


Jupiter In Retrograde

by amerithotkongs



Category: GOT7, 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - 1980s, Drug Dealing, Explicit Language, Los Angeles, M/M, Mobs, Models, New York City, Original Character Death(s), Recreational Drug Use, Sexual Content, Undercover Cops, basically a 80's crime blockbuster in my own way, drug kingpins, main character bambam, mark is a kingpin, taebam are best friends
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-01
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2018-10-26 13:37:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 112,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10787748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amerithotkongs/pseuds/amerithotkongs
Summary: The first time Bambam told Jackson he loved him, there was a Beretta 92 pistol staring him straight in the face, greeting him before the sun shining through the drapes did.





	1. ACT I

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DirtyMartini (Zetaii)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zetaii/gifts).



> My new child, Jupiter In Retrograde. Guys i'm so nervous lmao. This is an 80's era one shot that got v long, divided into parts that are all pre-written. Here's a [moodboard](https://padlet.com/amerithotkongs/nwq4jrn6mbip) to correspond with it, and it also includes music so everyone really feels connected to it. Enjoy this universe I had fun creating! (gifted to one of my favorite writers, I hope they like this!)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the beginning.

The first time Bambam told Jackson he loved him, there was a Beretta 92 pistol staring him straight in the face, greeting him before the sun shining through the drapes did.

Most people would prefer waking up to the smell of bacon, the promise of a blowjob—anything opposed to a fucking _bullet_ in their head first thing in the morning.

Jackson knew he should speak, try to convince them _not_ to blow his brains out all over the hotel carpet, but he came up short.

Could you blame him? It felt unreal. Overzealous. Spectacular in the _sickest_ way imaginable.

He felt trapped in the climax of a Tarantino movie - unable to do anything besides witness his own bloody ending.

Staring into the barrel of the gun, Jackson could tell you one thing.

This was not some cult favorite. This was real life, and there was nothing iconic, oscar worthy or entertaining about this.

Then again, maybe there was.

Because only in a movie, would the person on the other end of the gun, the one with his finger hovering above the trigger, _also_ be the love of Jackson’s life.

From the outside looking in, Jackson guessed, this was nothing short of a classic.

 

 

**ACT I: THE ROTTEN APPLE, NEW YORK (1986)**

 

_“You’re fucking beautiful, you know that? Everything about you, baby...you’ve got it all.”_

 

“Oh yeah? You think I’m pretty?”

 

Bambam mocked the sweet sentiment, putting a joint to between his lips instead of a thanks, not even having to wait a second before his choice of the night lit it up for him. The sounds of the car alarms from outside were the soundtrack of the night, alongside the Sade on the record player in the living area.

“Hell yeah, you kidding me?” the older man responded, watching the boy blow out the smoke right into his face. They always had a good time coming back from the club.

“Prettier than your wife?”

Bambam nodded towards the portrait of the man and his wife, which had been staring him right in the face for the whole night. 

The man rubbed his hand over the younger’s thigh before he muttered in his ear: “If she looked _half_ as good as you I’d be fucking her instead.”

‘ _I’m pretty sure that has something to do with you liking it up the ass.’_ Bambam thought. He decided to go with something less harsh:

“I didn’t even fuck you, don’t go talkin’ like that yet.”

The man just laughed.

He watched Bambam as he stood and stretched his bare body, sifting through his closet until he found a silk black robe to shrug over his shoulders. The boy had beautiful long legs, a thin frame, a gorgeous face. It would be a _shame_ to waste it all away in the bed sheets, he thought.

“I’m serious, baby. I know a guy who works for Ford models. I can call him up. You’d be amazing, you already have the look and all.”

Bambam scoffed, “A _model?_ Quit fucking around, huh. You high too?” he crawled back onto the bed, pushing the man down onto his back before he straddled his hips.

“Don’t act like you’re not interested. I know you love our little photo shoots. You never want me to put the camera down...”

“Yeah, but _you’re_ fucking me. It’s different than some old guy telling me what poses to do and shit. What the hell do I look like, huh?”

“You’d still love the attention.”

He couldn’t argue with that one.

Bambam sighed, turning the idea over in his mind.

A fucking _model._

The only models he comes in contact with are the ones at the clubs - they’re extremely hot _and_ they make enough bank to be able to club every night while affording their rent comfortably. Some even go to school at the same time.

Well, that actually didn’t sound too bad to him, once he really thought about it.

_Say no more._

“Okay, fine. But money. How much are we talking here?”

The man shrugs and Bambam frowns. “Depends, baby. But with a face like yours, I wouldn’t worry about that too much. There’s always gonna be _someone_ throwing money your way.”

The younger gripped the man by the jaw, making sure their gazes connected.

“I’m not some fuckin’ _prostitute_ , Wayne. Don’t go sending me into shit.” Bambam had nothing against sex workers - quite the contrary - but he was well aware of the bullshit that he could be stepping into. Yet, along with the trepidation in his voice, there was also intrigue to the prospect, which made the other man press a deep kiss to his lips. It reminded Wayne of just how _young_ the boy in his bed actually was.

It didn't take long to convince him to try anything new.

“Don’t worry about that. You can trust me, for sure.”

The younger smiled at that - a stunning, shy smile that made the other man trace a hand over his soft skin at the sight.

If Bambam had known then, what he found out later, he’d have run for the hills as soon as those words left Wayne’s lips.

“I’ll even go with you the first time...make sure it’s all safe for my angel. You’d like that, right?”

Bambam shrugged and looked away, making the man tightly grip his waist. Wayne slid his hands down to younger's ass with a hard squeeze that made him hiss. “You’d like that, huh? _Answer me.”_

Bambam nodded frantically, causing the man to bite his earlobe in retaliation, sending chills down his spine.

“Use your words, you’re not a baby.”

_“Y-Yes…”_ he moaned, his cheeks reddening at how embarrassing he sounded.

But hey, nobody was here to judge him. He’d definitely consider the modeling thing if he got _this_ every night.

Bambam smirked to himself at the thought of just how far this could take him. Hot model friends, making so much money he could ditch his apartment in the lower east side and buy a _house_ in the Hamptons.

A nice ride, looking like a scene out of Miami Vice when he drove back up to Manhattan to hit Studio 54 to party. Nobody would know what fucking hit em’ when he arrived.

_Hell_ yeah.

Why stop there? No more dripping faucets, annoying ass landlords, ducking and dodging crackheads sleeping at his building entrance.

It sounded like a good plan to him. It really, really did.

Until the whole mood came crashing down when the _fucking_ phone had to ring.

Wayne started to get up, but Bambam drug him back down by his arm. That damn phone was the bane of most of his nights with him. There could only be one person calling Wayne this late.

“She’s a big girl, she can take a message..”

“Stop it, I have to take this.” He shrugged the younger off of him, making Bambam scowl as he watched Wayne’s retreating figure. Bambam took another hit, glaring when Wayne came to sit back onto the bed. The phone was to his ear and the phantom soft sounds of a feminine voice on the other end were particularly annoying this time.

_“Hey, sweetie…”_

Bambam hummed, the _irritation_ inside setting himself alight. He wasn’t going to sit here and be neglected tonight. So he kissed the man’s chest, letting his hands wander more than they usually did. He pressed a little harder, just to see if he could crack Wayne’s facade, moan out his name, end that _farce_ of a relationship sooner than later if he was lucky.

Not that Bambam was particularly gunning to break up a marriage, but he didn’t want to share any of the attention right now.

Or ever, really.

_“Y-Yeah, I know.”_ Wayne stopped talking for a moment to glare at Bambam, only receiving a smirk and the slap of his boxer elastic to his skin.

_“Tomorrow morning, right?”_

_“Mhm, baby..o-oh my God, right there...”_ Bambam moaned, chuckling when he felt Wayne sharply tug at his hair in warning. If being punished got him attention, then so be it.

_“It was nothing. Have the TV on. Yeah..I know, I’m gonna sleep soon.”_

The call continued on for a few moments, but as they went on, Bambam’s actions started to feel less and less entertaining.

Either being some rich investor’s plaything was starting to get really damn boring, or he was just coming down from his high.

Probably the latter.

_“Love you, honey. See you soon. Bye.”_

By the time the call ended, Bambam was searching for his discarded clothes in the big expanse of the master bedroom.

Wayne was pretty rich and other than the wife, the size of his apartment was his only complaint about coming over. It was hard to find anything in that bitch once you lost it.

He wondered if the sight of some of his forgotten clothes had garnered any suspicion from her yet. Maybe even the smell of his perfume lingering on the sheets? He always preferred sweeter scents when he knew he was seeing Wayne.

Call him a troublemaker.

“Leaving already, angel? We have the rest of the night, you know.”

The younger chuckled, pulling on his tight jeans and checking his hair out in the mirror. It was a bleached blonde he’d gotten on impulse after he left his parents house a year prior, with a pink streak later on (courtesy of some drunk friends).

“I’m sure we do,” He sauntered over to the man, running his fingers through the dark hair. Wayne pulled on it a lot which made him look _even more_ like the distressed husband he was.

“But if you’re really gonna make me a star...I can’t be so _available_ can I?”

“Have it your way. But it's late, baby. Let me drive you back. Stars don’t take the subway, do they?”

Bambam hid his grin, buttoning up his denim shirt. Wayne _always_ got like this when he was leaving.

“Actually, they do. It’s Manhattan, big guy.” And just as he was about to walk away, he felt Wayne’s strong hand pull him back.

He felt the crisp bills slip into his palm. No, he wasn’t a prostitute, but it wasn’t uncommon. Sometimes Wayne gave him enough to pay the cab fair, buy dinner for the rest of the week, and even cover the rent sometimes. But this time, it was so much more.

Huh. He must _really_ be trying to drive home a point here.

“Quite a bit here...”

Wayne smirked. “Just a sneak peek of what’s to come for my superstar.”

On a usual day, money is money, and he’d take it without question. But today, he was feeling a lot bolder. Instead of slipping it in his pocket, he pulled out the extra hundreds and handed it back to the man.

 

“Keep that and buy your wife something nice for me, will you?”

 

-

 

A couple weeks later and Wayne appeared to be true to his word.

 

He told Bambam to meet up with him at one of the buildings downtown. One of those newer looking, established ones, not too far from the suits on Wall Street. It was a funny sight; _him_ walking alongside business guys in his casual black jeans and a white tee. He’d actually scaled it down from his usual picks at Wayne’s request - he didn't know why.

If Bambam’s gonna be a model, shouldn't they see him at his best dressed?

Upon entry into the building, it looked like any regular office with a secretary at the front desk and everything. _Time to be polite._

Admittedly, he was going to be a little off his game today. He’d hit another bar for a while after he had left Wayne’s, releasing the bitterness he felt after the wife ruined another night with a couple drinks.

Well, more than a couple.

“Can I help you, sir?” The secretary asked, briefly looking over the young boy who was stunned to silence at the pristine insides of the building. What the hell would Wayne want him to be _here_ for?

“Are you lost?”

Bambam chuckled to mask his discomfort before he answered. “Um, no. I’m just waiting for someone.”

She narrowed her eyes a bit.

“And who may that be? You can't just hang out in here.”

Bambam’s polite smile vanished at the patronizing tone of her voice. Yeah, he kind of _figured_ he didn't belong here about 5 blocks ago, but he didn't need to be reminded.

“...Wayne. I’m waiting for _Wayne,_ sweetie. Buzz him or something for me, will you?”

She rolled her eyes, dialing a phone by her desk to get him out of her face.

“Mr. Garrett, sir? There's...a young man here saying he's here to see you. Send him up? Oh...that's what I thought. Okay, thank you, sir.”

Bambam’s brows furrowed at her words. _Send him up?_ How important was this guy?

She hung up, and in the most unapologetic way, she said: “Sir, I'm sorry but I'm going to have to ask you to leave. Mr. Garrett isn't seeing anyone today.”

_What the fuck is she talking about?_

Bambam bit the inside of his cheek, keeping himself from saying something he shouldn't. This was probably Wayne’s place of work, and clearly, _the plaything_ had no part in his life if it wasn't after 12 am.

He got that.

“It’s whatever, he a busy guy. Have a great day, lady. Don't work too hard, huh?”

The fake passive tone he had dripped like venom. He sounded just as bothered as he felt. Bambam sarcastically saluted the woman before he turned on his heel and made for the door. His expression dropped so fast, it was almost comical.

_Why the hell would Wayne embarrass him like that and make him go there?_

_What the fuck was his problem?_

He clenched his jaw, patting his jeans for his cigarettes when he heard his name being called from behind.

“Bambam! Slow down!”

He knew it was Wayne but he just kept walking. He was too angry and embarrassed to look at him right now. He couldn't understand why something so _small_ in the grand scheme of things had him so damn upset.

Maybe it was the attention thing again, but deep down he knew it was because of how blatantly it reminded him of his ‘place’ in the twisted relationship.

“I told you to meet me-”

Bambam quickly turned to him. “I _did_ go meet you. _You’re_ the one didn't let me up to see you in your fancy ass office.” He dodged out of the way of people trudging down the sidewalk. “I fucking get it, so just forget about it.”

“It was just a tiny misunderstanding,” the older man continued to walk down the busy sidewalk, not giving the younger one glance as he spoke. No one would even tell they were having a conversation together unless they were staring a bit too closely.

“You came early and you weren't supposed to go inside. We were meeting _outside_ of the building.”

“Oh, okay.” Bambam chuckled in disbelief. “I was supposed to wait out on the sidewalk until you finally came out like some pitiful little puppy, right?”

Wayne rubbed his temple with his hand and hastily lead them under the awning of a random store, tucked in and perfectly out of view of the block.

All of that and he was _still_ looking around for other people on the street. He acted as if people could see through them both and crack the nature of their relationship by one public sighting.

It was fucking irritating. But what could he do?

Nobody told him to fuck a married, closeted businessman.

“C’mon, cheer up for me...you know how it is. I still need to take you to your first casting. I promised you, didn't I?”

Bambam huffed, crossing his arms as he looked the man in the face. Even if he _was_ pissed, he may as well just do the casting while he's out here. So, he accepted Wayne’s non existent apology and they headed to yet another fancy looking building.

This one wasn't as big and intimidating as the last, but the _‘FORD MODELS’_ on the inside made a nervous chill wrack his spine he didn't feel before.

His eyes caught onto huge, blown-up portraits of gorgeous women and men, faces he’s seen here and there in commercials and magazines. They were done in black and white, lining the walls around the lobby for everyone who entered to see.

Those could be of _him_ one day.

He smiled to himself at the thought. In the future, a guy like him _now_ could walk in and see his blown up portraits on the wall. They could become inspired by him. How fucking cool would _that_ be?

_Maybe this actually was worth taking a bit seriously._

In the midst of his fantasies, he didn't notice Wayne pulling him into a room already and talking his ear off about shit he had no idea about.

“-can meet with this agent and get some shots done.”

“What?”

Bambam only caught the last part of his sentence before Wayne had sauntered away from his side. He left him to talk to some blonde woman in a suit, probably an agent - leaving him standing in the doorway to get openly assessed and judged by a whole line of male models. Those of which that looked way... _different_ than he did, if you got his drift.

So naturally, he felt awkward as hell to be the new guy _and_ the odd one out.

There was only one other Asian guy there, standing about 5’9 at the end of the line with a neutral expression on his face - like he was almost _bored_ with the entire thing. Well, neutral until someone spoke to him, and then he’d do this huge, frankly _adorable,_ heart-shaped smile.

He was pretty cute.

Bambam must have been staring more overtly than intended because the boy had already spotted him at the door and was smiling _right_ at him.

He was about to wave when he heard a throat clear from across the room, making Bambam turn his attention away from who would soon become the most important friend he ever made.

The woman looked away from Wayne, snapping to the blank spot next to the cute boy.

“New boy! Get in line next to Kim, please.”

The brunette waved him over and he stood next to the boy in the line. The situation put Bambam in a weird spot but he wasn't going to bother being shy about checking the other out, at least.

The boy was even more gorgeous up close.

He stood a few inches taller than him, golden skin similar to Bambam’s and with that, they were already unlike the rest of the boys in the room. He had this cute, brown bowl cut going on that slightly covered his eyes, which was the leading cause of his habit of always pushing his hair back (and looking like some hairspray commercial in the process).

But the thing that caught him the most were his eyes. They were huge, sparkling brown eyes that could probably get him anything he wanted. _And_ paired with a smile that put Prince Charming to shame?

He looked more like he belonged in _movies_ than a still picture on a page.

The younger finally decided to introduce himself.

“I’m Bambam, what’s up?”

“Hey Bambam, I’m Taehyung - but you can call me Tae.” After a beat he smirked, leaning down briefly. “Or anything you want, really. You're smokin’ hot.”

Bambam’s eyes widened at how _deep_ his voice was before smirked back, the nerves he felt starting to vacate just a little.

“Yeah, Hollywood? You’re one of those damn supermodels _,_ aren't you? Hook me up with your friends, and I’ll make it worth your while.”

Taehyung just stared at him after that, looking equal parts shocked and intrigued at the response.

It was such a lengthy silence that Bambam almost _apologized_ for probably traumatizing some straight kid who had been fucking around with him.

Until he heard a childish laugh being muffled behind a hand, making the blonde raise his brows to the boy.

“Oh, definitely. You _know_...it’s too bad you didn’t catch my Vanity Fair spread last month,”

The brunette looked Bambam straight in the eye before he delivered the iconic line that made him a permanent fixture in his hot mess of a life from that day forward.

“Got a joint in my mouth and two pretty boys jerking their cocks on me as the money shot. It was too edgy to publish.”

_Goodness._

Bambam tried muting his laugh behind a cough and ended up with a sneeze-sounding atrocity that sent Taehyung into his own giggles and garnered the unsought attention of the agent, the photographer, _and_ Wayne.

Bambam straightened up immediately, all ready to apologize for any disruptions before the agent spoke. She pointed a polished red nail in his direction.

“Ah, he really is a new one. He’s yours, right?”

Bambam narrowed his eyes at the term ‘yours’ in this context, but Wayne didn't seem to notice or care.

“Yeah, he’s my newest client. I think he has a lot of potential. He’s a pretty one, isn't he?”

_Client? Since when?_

The woman looked Bambam up and down.

“I agree. He’s got a very... _exotic_ look going on, but he could definitely be worked with. Where is he from again?” She asked, tilting her head to the side like he was some art piece down at the MET people pretended to understand.

Bambam sighed. Why couldn't she talk directly to him?

And _exotic?_ Really?

“Right here in the city, born and raised. Nothin’ exotic about Manhattan until sundown.” Bambam spoke up for himself, raising a brow at them both.

But the woman only smiled once again, furthering the stupidity of the conversation when she asked the signature:

“No, I mean really. Where's your family from?”

Honestly, Bambam couldn't even be offended at this rate.

“Um-”

“Thailand.”

Of course, Wayne even answered _that_ for him. Bambam guessed he should be kind of thankful. If he said what _he_ wanted to the woman with her idiotic ass, he’d have ended his career before it even started.

But he didn’t feel very gracious, at the most he felt fucking pissed because Wayne hadn’t even looked in his _direction_ since they’d walked in _._

He was more into the way the woman’s skirt hugged her hips than his ‘client’.

Wayne spoke up, a hand stroking his chin as he assessed Bambam like he hadn't seen every part of his body naked the night before. “What do you think about him? Good to go?”

She hummed at Wayne's question, appraising the boy once more.

“We’ll see. Do some headshots, then maybe shoot them both?”

Taehyung gave Bambam a comforting smile, his eyes saying more behind them than he was allotted to at the moment. The blonde returned a very universal _‘just fucking kill me’_ expression that made the other grin in response.

Wayne just chuckled as he looked between them both, swiping his tongue across his bottom lip.

“I like that idea, Michelle. Both of them together.”

Wayne must _really_ be on something nice with all the shit he was talking. Bambam clenched his jaw, and Taehyung kept his polite smile on like nothing out of the ordinary was said. He seemed generally unbothered by the way they were being objectified.

Or maybe, he was just used to it by now.

Fuck. The thought of becoming _comfortable_ with bullshit like that made him disgusted. But when you’re as wide eyed and bushy tailed as he was, things like that don’t seem as monumental.

They never really do when you're young.

“Yeah, I bet you do.” The woman smirked at Wayne, tossing her long blonde hair over her shoulder before she waved the photographer over. He brought along with a mousy looking kid that Bambam hadn’t even noticed sat in the corner of the room, waiting to be called upon. Must be some errand boy.

“Eric, take Bambam’s measurements before they start. Bring them back to me later, Mr. Garrett and I have some business to attend to in the office.”

Bambam rolled his eyes, “Oh, wow...” he muttered under his breath. The both of them practically power walk to the exit without once glance back at them.

“They must have some important ‘business’ to take care of with how they rushed out of here.” Taehyung commented. Bambam shrugged, not wanting to talk about it. Instead, he focused all of his energy on getting to know the boy in front of him.

“So..” Bambam started, lifting up his shirt as Errand Boy wrapped the measuring tape around his waist.

“Where are _you_ ‘really’ from, Hollywood?”

Taehyung cackled, no doubt catching the mockery in his voice. “South Korea. Daegu. It’s the fucking country, basically. I was scouted in a convenience store when I was 15 on a class trip to Seoul. I was trying to make my ramen and all of a sudden, some white dude comes up to me talking about how he loved ‘my look’. I nearly punched him until he started talkin’ numbers.”

“You’ve been modeling a while then, Big Shot. You gotta be like...twenty-somethin’ at least?”

Taehyung smiled. “21. I came here all alone and I been here all alone for six years. My family didn’t stop me, they think America is some big deal you know? I mean so did I, until I fucking came here. The most exciting thing is the pizza, the clubs, and the... _extracurriculars.”_

Bambam smirked at ‘extracurriculars’, knowing full well about the drugs circulating the scene at the moment. He never really messed with drugs. Not past weed and cigarettes anyway. The crack epidemic really turned him off of pursuing anything harder.

“What about you, gorgeous? _”_

“Mm, me? Well, I’m 19, been here all my fucking life. Seriously, I don’t know shit but the concrete and the subway...and the best routes to take to avoid those big rats that chase you down Tribeca real late at night.”

Taehyung busted out laughing, going off about a time he accidentally fell asleep in the subway and he swore a rat was about to bite his ankle off before Bambam continued.

“I know the best pizza joints too, but most importantly the party spots. Both are right down the block from each other and all.” He lifted his arms, letting the flustered errand boy wrap the cold tape around his chest. “But the owners of that joint hate me after a long night. I go right in there with my favorite girls from the drag nights, makeup on and everything, screaming about how I want Reagan and his War on Drugs to get _‘fucked up the ass’.”_

Bambam turned to the older with raised brows and an expression that screamed ‘you scared yet?’. He was honestly waiting for Taehyung to end the conversation once he saw how Bambam acted.

But he didn’t.

 

“You sure sound like a good time.”

 

“So I’m told.”

 

The errand boy’s eyes widened immediately, scurrying away from them to write down Bambam’s measurements as both of the boys cackled at the scene.

After that, Bambam took in the rest of the models currently getting their head shots done one by one on the other side of the room. They looked nothing like him and Taehyung.

All as white as they could be; sporting six packs, and killer ‘to die for’ combinations of blonde hair and blue eyes. The only major difference was the brunette who screamed ‘boy next door’. He looked like the supporting character in every sitcom that would probably become the biggest out of them (spoiler alert: he actually did).

The other models were similar to each other in every aspect, he almost couldn't tell them apart. But he already knew they’d make it farther than he would.

Honestly, what the hell was he doing here?

Did Wayne _really_ think he could even do this, or would this turn into some ‘remember that one-time’ joke that he’d be expected to laugh about later?

_“New boy. You’re up.”_

He didn’t have time to think about it, though. The photographer was calling for him now. Taehyung gave a supportive smile and a thumbs up as the younger gingerly walked up to the blank white backdrop set. It was all a bit more complicated than he anticipated.

In laymen’s terms: He had _no_ idea what the hell he was doing.

The flash of the camera would go off and he did whatever pose he felt like, just like any other time a camera was in his face. The photographer wasn’t saying much, except the odd encouragement here and there, so he must’ve been doing well enough to get by.

Soon, Taehyung had joined him and the photographer was visibly excited at the shots he was able to get out of the two boys. Probably because Taehyung was a seasoned model and made Bambam look better than he actually was. Not that he was complaining.

It was actually pretty fun after a while, especially when they stood back to back, posing like they were the stars of Miami Vice. They  _loved_ Miami Vice.

_“You two, I’m loving it!”_

Bambam was about to suggest another pose for them to do when the door opened from across the room and he saw Wayne and the agent lady coming back from their little ‘office meeting’.

What a fucking _buzzkill._

He must’ve stiffened on sight because he barely caught Taehyung asking him what was up out of his earshot. The lady stopped the photographer and suddenly the three of them were talking amongst each other, looking over to Bambam occasionally.

“So, Mr. Garrett’s your manager?” Taehyung asked, running his hand through his hair as he looked down to the younger (who had yet to take his eyes from the pair).

“Somethin’ like that.”

Taehyung tilted his head to the side, about to ask another question to the younger before the agent spoke up with another order.

“Kim, you can go ahead and get your new headshots taken while we speak to your friend here, okay?”

Taehyung nodded, squeezing Bambam on the shoulder before he left his side. He _already_ missed his presence.

“Before any contracts are signed, I want these pictures looked over by the agency. You should build his portfolio up with some more shots so there’s a bigger quantity to go from. He’s got a pretty face, but they’d wanna see if he’s able to pull off... _masculine_ looks - like Kim can.”

Bambam frowned. _Masculine?_

Does he not look masculine enough? What, do they need him to jack up on protein get a six pack like the rest of them? He’s only 19 anyway, what the hell would _he_ do with that kind of image?

But soon enough, his first shoot was over and they were on their way out. He didn't know how he felt about it.

Wayne told Bambam he’d pick him up that weekend to go to Elektrik (some new club downtown) for ‘business’ regarding his modeling. At first, he wasn’t even for it, not because of the sketchiness of doing meetings in a club, but because of having been _thoroughly_ thrown off between the ‘business’ he and Michelle had going on before.

There was one silver lining in it, though.

If it was really model business, Taehyung wouldn’t be far away. And _that_ was one thing he was very interested in. _So_ much that before the time even got there, he had a visit to the boy’s apartment lined up after they already hung out for most of the week.

 

-

 

Kim Taehyung lived all alone, smack dab in the middle of Koreatown on West 32nd, for the better part of six years.

He felt kinda bad. A 15-year-old all alone in this dangerous city hanging onto the hopes of success in a warped industry. But he turned out well enough. Everybody in his building knew him, liked him, and it gave off a very comfortable ‘homey’ vibe compared to where Bambam lived. Compared to anything Bambam had experienced in a long while if he’s honest.

Taehyung had this nice old grandma knocking on his door daily, making sure he was fed properly and his laundry was done. She even brought over some Kimchi Jjigae, which Taehyung gratefully accepted, bowing multiple times with a smile that could melt the polar ice caps. Bambam even heard Taehyung ask how her grandchildren were, and Bambam briefly wondered how someone so _sweet_ had chosen to befriend someone like _him._

He’d wonder that for a long, long time.

“Sorry about that, bro,” Taehyung said, carefully closing the door with his hip while carrying the hot pot in his hands. “That was Mrs. Lim.” He set the pot down and Bambam wasted no time sauntering up the stove.

“Nah, that’s cool as hell of her actually.” He leaned down and took a dramatic sniff with a whisk of his hand. “And it smells _divine.”_

Taehyung rolled his eyes at his word choice, gently shoving the boy before he sat at the kitchen counter beside him. He tucked his chin into his knees, his patterned socks peeking out of his Chuck's under the tucked rolls of his jeans. “She owns the restaurant right next door. She’s been bringing hot food and checkin’ up on me since I got here. I’d be fucked without her.”

Bambam looked all around the small apartment, smiling to himself at how _Taehyung_ it all was.

Really.

He’d known him for all of a few days and he could already tell how he’d made it his home. The wall decorations ranged from ‘ _Make Love, Not War_ ’ flower child posters, punk bands and soul singers, right down to random children's drawings of Korean cartoon caricatures that Bambam _guessed_ were drawn for him. He couldn't be too sure with this kid.

There was also the empty, worn looking Back To The Future VHS box sitting out, both of them knowing good and well the tape was in the player already set to run whenever the boy got any free time. Bambam had no idea about the matching posters in his room yet...or the action figures.

And of course, it wasn’t complete without the stacks of comics strewn about, the cartoons blasting on the TV during the 10 am showings and ignored the rest of the time- save for the weather and the news. He couldn't judge. The news was _way_ too much of a drag to watch these days.

It seemed like nothing _good_ ever happened in the city.

“How’s this modeling thing really treating you, huh?”

Taehyung shrugged, “I do most of my biggest work internationally. A few catalogs here and there. Maybe a handful of shows a year here. Fashion week is busy, but I’m usually not in the city.”

Bambam furrowed his brows, “What? Why? Isn’t New York like... _the_ place for modeling or some shit? They pay you a lot, don’t they?”

The brunette gave small smile. There was a sadness behind his eyes that told him more than needed.

“I don’t really fit the mold for most brands around here, you know. Some just aren’t,” He made air quotes, “ _Going for the oriental look_ \- I actually got that once. Six years I’ve been doing this, still barely get taken seriously around here. I get paid, yeah. But I send most of it back to my family in Daegu...so they at least know I’m not out here failing.”

“Bullshit...” Bambam muttered, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it. “Fucking bullshit. If they aren’t casting _your_ perfect ass, they definitely ain’t casting me. Might as well quit while i’m ahead.”

Taehyung groaned rather loudly, kicking his feet like an angry toddler.

“Bammie, _please._ I know the fashion world will end up adoring you. You’re young, already a natural, and you somehow make your _own_ clothes look better than the most expensive shit I’ve walked in. You’ve got the _style,_ that...what the fuck do they say in France? Jentr- Genesis- No...”

 

_“Je ne sais quoi?”_

 

_“See!_ That’s what I mean! You even made _that_ sound cool.”

 

Bambam choked on his smoke, Taehyung gasped and rubbed his back with a worried to death face that made him choke on his laughter even more. Eventually, they got it together and Bambam was onto his next subject and his _second_ bowl of Kimchi Jjigae.

“You should break into acting, Tae. I know it’s probably just as fucked of an industry, but hey. You may land the part of some white women's sugar baby in a box office smash if you’re lucky. The fuck do you think I call you Hollywood for?”

“Wh- _fuck you,_ first of all! And second of all…” Taehyung looked down into his lap, fidgeting with his track jacket sleeves.

 

“You really think so?”

 

Bambam threw his head back and laughed louder than he had in ages.

 

-

 

The weekend came faster than Bambam expected.

 

He was in the passenger’s seat of Wayne’s car, dressed in his regular attention grabbing club attire; makeup heavy, with every intention of getting fucked up with Taehyung. If he partied as hard as Bambam, he’d definitely become his Certified Best Friend by the end of the night.

Wayne caught him smiling out of the corner of his eye, placing a strong hand on Bambam’s leather-clad thigh. It was a sight to behold…how the diamond wedding ring glistened against his zippers. It made something dormant inside of Bambam awaken, some distant _want_ that felt vaguely childish and unrealistic to him now. Maybe because he longed for that once upon a time. True love like in the movies and shows, the complete _opposite_ of what he’d been exposed to as a kid.

But as of now, Bambam couldn’t care less about that shit anymore.

‘Love’ was the bullshit that made someone marry a guy like Wayne and get cheated on every night, knowing nothing of it.

Love. Marriage. That fleeting desire he felt had soured faster than expired milk in the sun. He was just fine without it and way too young to give a damn.

Money is way better.

It’s tangible, valuable, could give you anything you could ever want. But he did make a mental note to ask Taehyung what his thoughts were about the love vs. money discourse. He probably had an interesting take on it.

“Excited?” Wayne finally spoke, never taking his eyes off of the traffic.

Bambam fixed his expression into a smirk. He took a look at himself in the side mirror. “You givin’ me a reason to be excited tonight, _manager?”_

Wayne pursed his lips, hitting the younger with a concerned look. “You don’t have a problem with that, right? I just don’t want anyone taking advantage of you. Especially after tonight. Once I network, you’ll be signed in no time. _All_ the way to the top, baby. Isn’t that what you want?”

Bambam shrugged, leaning into the man’s space with a hand trailing his bicep. “I mean that’s fine, too. But I know what I want even _more_...and you haven’t given it to me in about a week.”

Michelle and fuck knows who else can’t relate to that sentiment though. But why complain when he too is fucking an actual married man?

Wayne just chuckled, pulling into a car lot.

“Patience, baby. It’ll all be better that way.”

 

-

 

Upon entrance to the new club, the younger’s eyes immediately went to scouring the smoke-filled interior for any signs of Taehyung. Hopefully, he’d meet him at the bar since Wayne slipped him some bills before hand to cover his drinks for the night. As usual, even in this sophisticated ass club, his age was never questioned and they slid him a couple of shots for free to warm him up for the night.

The place was nice, but it wasn't his usual crowd. But it was enough to have a good enough time if you looked in the right places.

Feeling a bit warmed up, Bambam floated through the crowd. Everyone was dancing, already feeling the music selection for the premiere night. He spotted some of the models from his first casting in pairs, and that only made Bambam wonder even more about Taehyung’s whereabouts.

He eventually gave up, knowing the brunette would come to him. He made a beeline for Wayne who was currently back at the bar.

“Wayne.” Bambam greeted simply, sliding his hand over his waist discreetly when he leaned next to him at the bar. There was another older guy with him, one who completely stopped talking once Bambam arrived. He rose his brows at Wayne pointing his glass towards the young boy before he spoke.

“He’s legal to drink, Wayne?”

Bambam snorted, “I’m legal enough to do this.” grabbing the glass Wayne was nursing from his hands and finishing it off within a couple gulps to prove his point. “Why does it matter to you?”

The man laughed and Wayne bit the inside of his cheek, a habit he often frequented when he was annoyed.

_Guess who didn't give a fuck?_

“I guess it doesn’t since you _clearly…”_ the man’s eyes scanned him once more. “Handle yourself pretty well…”

His gaze lingered on Bambam a little longer than they should’ve before he turned back to Wayne.

“I want him. I think I can squeeze him in next Wednesday.“

Bambam furrowed his brows at his words before Wayne _finally_ decided to introduce them properly.

“This is Trip Hansen. One of my good buddies and a photographer for Ford that _specializes_ in new talent such as yourself. Mr. Hansen, this is-”

“Bambam.” The blonde finished. He was done with being spoken for. “Lookin’ forward to working with you, old man.” He pulled out a cigarette and held it towards Trip, who chuckled to himself before digging in his expensive coat pockets for a lighter and taking care of it for the young boy.

“Oh, wow. He’s a fun one, isn’t he?”

Wayne just sipped his drink in response.

“Wednesday is great. What time, Trip?”

“Whatever time he wants.”

Bambam grinned at the prospect of not waking up at 6 am. He was a professional and there was no way he could turn it down. “I don't function before noon so anytime after is cool with me.”

“4 o’clock? Wayne can drop you off, right?”

The boy sucked in a breath of his cigarette, watching the older man agree on the time with a nod. Soon after that, Trip left and Bambam took his seat at the bar.

The boy ordered another drink, not acknowledging the heated glare Wayne was sending his way.

“What the hell was that? Can you _not_ act civilized for two seconds?”

“Hm? The fuck are you on about, Wayne?” The young boy rose his brows at the man’s angry tone. Wayne had _never_ gotten that angry with him before, not even when he maxed out one of his credit cards for birthday shoes not too long ago.

“Don’t play dumb right now, sweetheart. It’s not cute.” Wayne snapped.

_Sweetheart._

Bambam clenched his glass so hard he _dared_ it to crack. He hated being called Sweetheart. It was the same thing Wayne called his wife over the phone after he and Bambam fucked, acting like he was up doing work.

Bambam wasn't _anyone’s_ sweetheart if that's what it entailed.

“What’s your problem, huh? Ever since this modeling thing you’ve been so fucking _controlling_ over everything I do. You know I hate that- _I hate it.”_ He growled, the bite in his voice making the bartender start to glance over at them.

“Then don’t act like a child.”

_“You’re_ the one acting like a child, asshole! I can act however I fuckin’ want to!”

And just to prove his point, Bambam roughly shoved his empty glass across the counter but Wayne managed to catch it before it shattered onto the ground.

“Get a hold of yourself right now. I told you it was business.” He gritted through his teeth, casting glances around the club to make sure no one saw them.

Oh, that's right! Bambam wasn’t even _worthy_ enough for him to properly acknowledge outside of the bedroom, never mind in public.

Don't even get him wrong. He didn't need him to take him out to fucking dinner every night, but he could at _least_ look him in the eyes and give him some basic respect.

“Business?!” Bambam mocked, a rough laugh following after. He rose from the stool. “Just like you and _Michelle,_ right?”

He was about to turn away when he felt Wayne’s strong hand grip him by his arm and yank him back, causing a yelp to come from his mouth and his cigarette to land on the floor.

“Who the _fuck_ are you talking to like that? You _need_ me, remember? I’m the one making all of this shit happen for you. _Me.”_

“Get the fuck off of me."Bambam ripped his arm away, starting to walk backward a bit. “Do you even hear yourself? _You’re_ the one who needs _me,_ big guy. Fuck all the bitches you want, you'll still crawl back to me without even _thinking_ about the girl you put that ring on.”

He tore through the crowd, ignoring whoever he bumped into until he found the bathroom doors and burst through them. His chest felt tight and he just _knew_ he was crying. Shit, he probably looked so damn tragic. He worked hard on that fucking eyeliner just to-

 

“ _B-Bambam?!”_

 

His head jerked up to the direction of the familiar voice, but the sight he was greeted with was the last one he thought he'd see.

He sighed. This night was longer than Hell.

“Bammie, are you- are you _crying?”_

The brunette was sniffling too. But for an entirely different reason.

The reason being white powder dusted over his nose, coming from the _neat_ line of cocaine trailing the sink.

“You sniffing blow?” Bambam shot back rhetorically. “Yes, I’m _crying._ Don’t ask why, it’s stupid. You didn’t see shit.” He huffed, running his hands through his hair and contemplating ramming his head into the linoleum, anything to cure how _stupid_ he fucking felt for even coming tonight.

Bambam sighed, feeling exhausted as he pointed at the others concerned face. “But I _do_ see snow on your nose. You should probably- yeah...”

Taehyung’s eyes widened as he looked in the mirror, wiping his nose of the substance.

“Shit....we’re both having a crazy night, I think.”

“Guess so.” The blonde ripped a paper towel from the dispenser and carefully dabbed away his tears.

“Don’t let me stop you. It’s a free country, do what the hell you like.”

Taehyung wasted no time.

He took the advice quite literal when he inhaled the short line in two sharp sniffs through a 50 dollar bill. His eyes briefly rolled back in ecstasy (not literally) before he eventually came back down to earth.

He cleared his throat, took a deep breath, then finally looked over at Bambam whose mouth had dropped to an ‘O’ watching the entire scene.

“Damn, it was _that_ good? You looked like you saw Jesus for a second there.”

Taehyung rubbed his nose.

“If I get hooked on this, I might.”

Bambam snorted, “Don’t joke about that, dickhead. Who sold you that shit?”

Taehyung frowned, dilated pupils looking up in the air with determination for a few moments like the name would _suddenly_ pop into his mind if he tried hard enough.

“Don't know his name! But fuck _…”_ he wolf whistled, a quick giggle following. “He was probably the sexiest guy I’ve ever seen besides like...you. It was usually 300 but he slashed it to a c-note just for me ‘cus it was my first time. We kind of made out a bit after…”

Taehyung stared off into the distance for a few seconds before he literally _pouted._

“I should’ve fucked him, right?”

“Holy shit…” The blonde mused, looking at his friend in shock. _“That_ was your first time doing…”

Taehyung checked his face in the mirror once more, casting his doe eyes down in shame. Bambam frowned at the sight. “My measurements...I gained a few inches on my waist. Heard it was a good method...It’s nothin’ to worry about. Stop looking like that.”

“I know...my bad, I'm just kind of... _300 a pop?”_

Taehyung slowly smirked, finally getting back to his regular self.

Well, his regular _high_ self.

“You interested or somethin’? I can point you to him if he’s still here. Even if you’re not you still gotta see em’. He’s like...the fucking cocaine angel of my dreams or some shit. You're cuter than me so you could probably get it free… _probably.”_

“Yup. _You’re_ definitely fucked up, Hollywood.” Bambam concluded, tugging the man by his arm as they approached the bathroom door.

“Show me to this ‘ _Cocaine Angel’.”_

 

-

 

The pair exited the bathroom and made it back to the dance floor, however, about 20 minutes in and two Michael records later, Taehyung had long forgotten their original objective and decided that jello shots were more important than 300 dollar cocaine. So, he left Bambam alone in the middle of the dance floor hollering about how he’ll ‘be right back’.

Bambam sighed for the millionth time as he passed through the club.

He was still pissed off from his fight with Wayne, even after a jam-packed party session with Tae. If _that_ didn’t make him forget, he _knew_ wasn’t as drunk as he could’ve been. So, Bambam danced his way back to the bar, asking for a tall vodka tonic with the lime on the side. He watched the bartender pour his drink, humming along with the Madonna record spinning when someone took the seat right beside him at the bar.

Bambam didn't pay them any mind.

Well, not until they slid a couple 100 dollar bills up and said: “Cover the beauty to my right and me for the night, keep the rest for yourself as thanks.”

_Woah._

Bambam meekly thanked the bartender for his drink, taking a sip before he let his eyes connect with the _extremely_ generous person who covered it.

Well, damn.

This _definitely_ wasn't Wayne.

“Vodka tonic. Looking to make a few mistakes tonight, are we?”

Bambam’s mouth ran dry, taking a few lengthy moments to appreciate the sight in front of him.

He was definitely a young guy, Asian, had a regional accent that sounded _nothing_ like any New Yorker Bambam had ever heard before. It was too soft to come from anywhere on the East Coast, actually.

His voice was _deep,_ brown eyes even deeper, almost sultry under his brunette bangs. The locks framed both sides of his forehead like he’d styled it meticulously to fall that way, but at the same time, it gave an effortless vibe that suggested he could’ve easily woken up like that.

He had the face of an angel, but the aura he carried told him this guy was nothing of the sort. And when it all came down to it - he certainly wasn't wrong.

Bambam _really_ wasn’t drunk enough for this shit yet.

“We all got a few things we wanna forget...” Bambam watched the man sip his drink with an amused expression when he continued.

“But thanks for wasting your cash on me, it’s much appreciated... _pretty boy.”_

The man absently licked his lips, staring out into the crowd with his drink in his hand. Bambam noticed the gold ring on his finger, but it definitely was an accessory rather than a marital bond of some sort.

How did he know that?

Simple. He had the matching watch on that same wrist.

 

“You’re callin’ _me_ a pretty boy? What does that make you?”

 

Bambam answered almost immediately: “Honest.”

 

The man threw his head back as he laughed, a very _cute_ laugh that didn't seem at all like it belonged to someone wearing multiple gold rings and a Rolex, with hundreds of dollars to blow on beverages.

His teeth were commercially straight and white, but they had an almost predatory sharpness to them. It obviously wasn't hard to imagine him as some model like Taehyung was - but when he waved his hand to the bartender, gesturing for another round of drinks without so much as a glance - Bambam knew the man couldn't be anyone's client or _underling_.

The man adjusted his jacket collar (a very, _very,_ expensive camel jacket that Bambam had used to long for when he passed through Barney’s to be ironic) before he spoke again.

“I wanna know what they _really_ call you, Mr. Honest.”

“Mm, shouldn’t you tell me first, pretty boy? I wanna thank you properly.” Bambam said, feeling himself appreciating the handsome stranger’s company the longer he sat with him. His facial structure was so sculpted, you could see it when he spoke. Bambam did appreciate a nice face.

“Ah, I see.” He leaned in closer, Bambam getting a whiff of what was no doubt, an expensive cologne. “In that case, you can call me Mark.” he sipped his drink again, a grin growing on his face at Bambam’s thoughtful expression.

“I can tell you’re trying to figure out my accent.”

Bambam giggled, a hand resting under his chin before he made eye contact again. “Seein’ right through me already. Where do they make em’ like you at, huh? Out there in California?”

Mark full on smiled, the sight making the younger die a bit inside. Damn, he was handsome.

“You’re actually right. I didn't wanna give you the satisfaction but…” He gave the younger a slow once over. “You don't look like you’re getting a lot of that tonight.”

Bambam’s brows rose at the strangers forward attitude, but he wasn't put off in the slightest. If anything, he was more interested.

“Oh, really? Then gimme somethin’ to work with, beach boy. I’m low maintenance.”

Bambam held back his laugh at the disbelief on the man’s face after that statement. After only one meeting, it was clear that Mark knew there was _nothing_ low maintenance about him.

“Sure thing. You gotta give me something first, though.”

“What’s that?”

“Your name.”

The guy was smooth.

And just when he was about to open his mouth to continue, they were both greeted by a _very loud_ third party.

_“Bambam!_ There you are, buddy! I was lookin’ everywh- _oh, shit…”_

Taehyung hung off Bambam’s shoulder with a dramatic gasp, only to met with a full on smirk on Mark’s face as looked between the two boys.

So, Bambam went ahead and introduced them.

“Uh, Taetae this is Mark. Mark...Taehyung.”

But Mark only tipped his head to the side, further confusing Bambam by the way he was looking at Taehyung’s flushed cheeks and inebriated state with a knowing expression.

“You’re enjoying it, I see. I told you it was the good stuff.”

See, Bambam would’ve still been lost until Taehyung cleared his throat, straightening his posture the best that he could before responding with a meekly ‘ _not bad’._

The youngest’s eyes widened at his friend's sudden shyness, because _since when was the boy ever shy?_

But then...a shit eating grin spread over Bambam’s face because he _finally_ realized.

This Mark really wasn't any regular guy.

This was the _cocaine angel,_ buying him a drink, giving him _the eyes._

_Oh wow._ Bambam leaned into the older man, pointing his straw in his face. “So _you're_ the babe selling mind numbing blow at 300 dollars a pop and giving pretty twinks discounts.”

Taehyung hit his shoulder and whined, _“You’re_ the twink. Stop fuckin’ embarrassing me!”

Mark chuckled, “My reputation precedes me, then.” He took a long look at Tae, who’s cheeks appeared even redder as the moment dragged on. “Should've known a cutie like you would keep a friend. Bambam, is it?”

Bambam sighed in defeat, running a hand through Taehyung’s hair to smooth out the flyaways.

“Taetae ruined the mysterious thing I had goin’ on. I wanted to reveal myself a bit better than that.”

Taehyung rolled his eyes, “Better? Like how? Yelling his name at the top of your lu-”

The brunette paused mid-sentence. His expression was drawn into confusion when his eyes caught onto the crowd and zeroed in on the _last_ person one of them wanted to see.

Taehyung elbowed his friend. “Bammie...isn't that your manager over there?”

Bambam’s brows furrowed, following his gaze until they were all looking at the same thing.

It was Wayne.

And to his greatest displeasure, _Michelle,_ from the agency, had decided to stop by tonight. By the way she was dancing with Wayne, Bambam guessed they’d decided to take what they started at the office, to the middle of the fucking dance floor. Right in Bambam’s direct line of view.

Asshole. _Fucking_ _asshole._

Sensing something off about the situation, Taehyung seemed to sober up a bit when Bambam had started to get up from his seat, only to get stopped by cocaine angel pressing a hand to his chest and guiding him back down to the stool.

“Manager?” He looked to Taehyung for further explanation as he mysteriously slid Bambam’s drink towards himself.

“Yeah, we’re models! Bammie’s new but he’s so good already. I mean duh, look at him.” Taehyung rambled, holding onto Bambam’s hand to try to comfort his friend.

“That explains a lot.” The oldest remarked. Mark stared at the spectacle in the middle of the floor a little longer, before the corner of his lips lifted up into a smirk that spelled nothing but trouble.

“Come here, pretty. We’re gonna put on a little show. You down?” He gestured towards Taehyung with one finger, and the boy practically _floated_ by Mark’s side before he even finished his statement.

“That guy…” Mark tipped Bambam’s chin up to meet his eyes when he stood up on one side of him, practically towering over him where he sat on the stool. Bambam gulped, feeling smaller than ever in this position.

_What the hell is going on?_

“That guy’s an ass,” Mark took a sip of his tonic, then grabbed the lime from the rim of Bambam’s glass.

“So, open up...” He tapped the younger's lips, smiling softly when the younger easily complied and let him slip the lime in. It wouldn't have been that bad, but Mark followed it with soft praise that made Bambam practically purr under his attention like a fucking kitten.

It _seemed_ like they were about to do basic body shots, but the atmosphere around them and Mark’s control of the situation told him this was something more.

“And stay still for us.”

Bambam’s heart skipped in his chest.

_Us? Did he hear that correctly?_

Apparently, he did. Mark had his fingers trailing the nape of Bambam’s neck, making it all too easy to tip his head to the side and give a nod to Taehyung, who’s mouth was gaped open in shock (or anticipation) at what the hell was happening in front of him.

And no wonder he was, because when Mark literally started to _kiss_ the side of his neck, the feel of it alone made him scorching hot all over. He wasn’t even counting Mark’s large hands holding his thighs in place with a vice grip to keep him still. Taehyung actually _whimpered_ from behind the man at the sight when Mark’s tongue trailed over the skin. It coaxed a similar, more desperate sound out of Bambam when the lime was removed from his mouth and the man had pulled away.

Mark then sprinkled what he assumed was salt he got from the bartender onto the damp skin, guiding Taehyung by the small of his back over to the other side of Bambam to repeat _exactly_ what he’d done.

_“Fuck...”_

Fuck was correct.

The model exhaled shakily, taking a sip of Bambam’s drink and staring at the patch of skin, looking into his friend's eyes for approval.

He appreciated the gesture, but the moment was far too hot for that kind of hesitation.

_“Today,_ Hollywood.” Bambam practically growled, pulling Taehyung by his shirt until his cold, vodka drenched tongue was flat against his neck, clearing it of the salt with a deep groan. Taehyung gently sucked the skin between his lips after the salt was gone, making the younger actually _moan_ for him under his ministrations. Bambam would _never_ admit to doing that and Taehyung had better forget it happened.

_This_ was the last thing he ever thought he’d be doing tonight.

Bambam glanced up at Mark, who was biting his lip to hide his grin while watching the entire thing he’d orchestrated. The older then pulled Taehyung away and tugged him towards his body, landing a hot, messy kiss over his friend's lips that even made Bambam squirm in his seat.

Once they separated, Mark cooed at the desperate, hungry look in the youngest’s eyes before leaned down and put him out of his misery.

Mark kissed fiercely, flashily, shit- the man left _no_ room for imagination with his tongue mingling with Bambam’s, barely letting either of them come up for air. He kissed like no one was watching, or more like he knew they _were_ and he was giving them what they wanted.

And when Bambam finally opened his eyes and spotted Wayne glaring at them from across the club, he realized:

 

That was the fucking point.


	2. ACT I - FINAL

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> last part of act one! things get intense just a warning. read these warnings pls.

The next thing Bambam knew, him and Taehyung were riding in the back of Mark’s black BMW heading to his high-rise in the city.

 

Mark had said it was too late for them to be walking alone and they, still very much entranced by the man, accepted the change of plans without a hitch. It wasn't like Bambam’s original ride was around, anyway.

Taehyung was giggling in the back seat, hands intertwined with Bambam’s, babbling about how pissed Wayne looked inside of the club at their hot little stunt. Bambam knew when he was sober he’d put together the real ins and outs of his and Wayne’s relationship, the fact the man was more than just his ‘manager’ and over a decade older than him.

Mark, on the other hand, watched them both in the mirror - Bambam in particular to check and see how he was fairing. Mark didn't like the way the situation looked between him and that guy, but he couldn't say much having just met the kid. He’d have to get through to the younger in other ways.

Taehyung had shed most of his clothes in the elevator on the way up, so by the time they reached the loft, he was dragging Mark to the nearest bedroom in the spacious living area ready for whatever.

Bambam had decided to look around a bit.

This guy was apparently just a drug dealer from California...but _also_ had a loft in New York he stayed in comfortably?

Now, Bambam wasn’t ignorant to the streets. He’s seen his fair share of drug dealers, but they were _nowhere_ near this fucking loaded by just doing that- _hell no._

Mark had to be something _more_. He had to be. Walking around Manhattan with expensive, high-grade coke, able to afford the inevitable profit loss of slicing prices over cute boys.

He heard Taehyung’s deep voice in the bedroom and followed it until he reached the room, greeted with the sight of his half-naked best friend straddling this guy’s waist. They were basically a condom away from just getting it on.

“You like the place?” Mark asked, not paying any mind to Taehyung trailing his lips over his neck and whispering some no doubt dirty shit into his ear. He’d probably have no shame repeating the same words to Bambam later if he asked.

Is _this_ what blow and alcohol made Taehyung like?

“Yeah, you’ve got pretty cool taste. Very modern.”

Bambam sat down on the silk bedsheets, staring at the dark modern interior of the bedroom, the deep red velvet fabric on the furniture, the tones of his cologne hanging in the air making it feel more lived-in than it actually was.

“Bammie, you look so sad. Doesn’t he look sad, Mark?”

Taehyung laid his head down on Mark’s bare chest, tracing a huge tattoo he had of what looked like a black Lotus flower. It was wrapped around his back and side, complete with details of the stems and everything. Bambam was in awe about it too, but he knew Taehyung was gonna be embarrassed as hell in the morning if he told him what he was like right now.

That’s if he remembered, anyway.

“You didn’t say Wayne was your b-boyfriend…” Taehyung slurred, making grabby hands towards the younger. “I thought we t-told each other _everything..."_

“He ain't my boyfriend, Taetae.”

Circumstances, perspective, it all became relative to Bambam then. No, Wayne _wasn't_ his boyfriend, Wayne didn't think of him as a _boyfriend_ \- just someone he fucked and paid when he felt like it.

And Bambam took the money, not allowing himself to think about it too much. He took the modeling opportunity, claiming he still had control over the situation, but he’d only lost it and got everything thrown back into his face. Wayne hadn't given him any title until Bambam became his ‘client’. What if Wayne was _Bambam’s_ client and the younger just had it confused the entire time?

Maybe Bambam’s logic was warped, but it didn’t seem too far fetched for him to fuck up that much.

Taehyung frowned. “I don't get it...”

 

That makes two of them.

 

Mark looked at Bambam curiously for a few moments as he ran his hand through Taehyung’s hair. Despite the elevated arousal from the coke, his friend was due to pass out soon.

“Lemme talk to your friend for a second, babe.” He muttered in the brunette’s ear. Taehyung nodded back in sleepy understanding, crawling off the man's waist and giving Bambam a quick back hug with a sloppy kiss on his cheek. Neither of them spoke until Taehyung skipped out of the room and closed the door behind him.

“I know you’ve got somethin’ to say, blondie. So say it.”

Mark lit a joint sitting on his bedside, deeply inhaling the smoke and blowing it out into the air before looking back at him.

Bambam watched the clouds of smoke above their heads when he finally asked.

“Who exactly are you, Mark? What do you do?”

Mark paused just for a second, almost as if he caught him off guard before he took another hit.

“What d’you think?”

“I think you're fuckin’ ridiculous if you think _i'm_ believing you're just some...random rich boy dealer from Cali…” Bambam reached for Mark’s joint outstretched for him, putting it between his lips.

“You’re slingin’ Escobar grade coke like it’s nothing. _Look_ at this place.”

Mark shrugged, “Never said anything about who I was, Bambam. You only know a name and a state. I could've lied about all of that shit. Escobar’s a stretch, though.”

Bambam extended the joint back to Mark before crawling his body further on the bed.

“I don't really care, you know. I’m 19, fucking somebody’s husband while _he_ fucks everyone the hell else. I ain’t in no place to judge, pretty boy.”

The older took the joint back, raising one of his thick brows. “Hold up. You’re only 19?”

“Out of all the shit I just said, you only call _that_ out?” Bambam giggled longer than he would usually- shit it _was_ funny- but he blames that on the weed and the vodka finally catching up to him.

After a moment, Mark chuckles with him, causing Bambam to laugh even harder because of the state of his hair. Taehyung getting his hands on it did a _real_ number to it.

“I mean, how the hell did you get in _and_ get drinks? You better tell me Taehyung is of age, at least. Before my conscience kicks in.”

“Yeah, yeah, you old pervert. He’s 21.”

They both laughed, the combined sound of it making Taehyung knock back on the door.

_“W-Where’s the bathroom? I can’t find it anywhere...”_

The other whined through the door sounding like he was almost about to cry. Bambam poorly hid his laugh behind his hands.

“Right across the hall!” Mark called out, hearing a loud _‘Thank You!!!’_ followed by Taehyung’s heavy footsteps and a slamming door.

After that, the both of them stayed in a comfortable silence. He noticed Mark wasn’t a man who spoke too much, but he was still excellent at holding a conversation. Bambam liked that. It gave him a chance to think instead of blurting out the first thing that comes to mind like usual.

“Why do you do it?”

Bambam exhaled. “Do what?”

“Fuck him. You know he’s with more people than just you, you’re hurt about it. So, why?”

“He’s rich. And he promised to make me a star.” Bambam weakly shrugged, knowing very well how pathetic it sounded when he said it out loud. He didn’t care anymore. “Said I’d make a beautiful model, I agreed, here we are.”

“And?”

“He stopped fucking me.”

Bambam leaned his head on his hand, staring down at the sheets to avoid the older's eyes. Before that moment, Bambam never explained himself to anyone. He just did what he did and that was that.

“Now he thinks I owe him shit.”

Mark didn't say anything for a while, taking a particularly long final hit from the joint before he sat up completely. He pulled a duffle bag out from under his bed, dropping it between them.

“Sounds to me like he’s using you.” Mark tsked, shaking his head as he zipped open the bag. “You know better than that, gorgeous. It’s not safe for all that these days.”

He pulled out a stack of hundreds, the sight making the younger gasp and sit up straight.

Mark tossed it to him. “Money. This is what you want, isn't it?”

Bambam meekly nodded, not knowing where the hell this was going. Mark was looking at him expectantly, so Bambam continued.

“He said as long as I look this way, I’ll always have money. Think he’s right?”

“I dunno,” Mark answered simply, pulling out two, three, four more stacks just like it. The younger's eyes glazed over at the amount of money in front of him. No, he _wasn't_ just a drug dealer. 

“Do you?”

Mark handed him a stack and Bambam gripped it in his hand, dragging his finger across the top of the bills to see each face looking back at him. This was easily a thousand in his hand, at the least. He swore he felt a chill run down his spine.

As Mark expected, Bambam only took a moment to answer.

“I think he's full of shit.”

Mark grinned. “Good.” He packed up the bag, leaving two stacks out. “One for you, one for your pretty model friend.” Bambam’s mouth gaped open as he held the stacks in his hand.

This was weeks, maybe a _month_ of Wayne itself. And Mark had a whole duffle bag of that just _sitting_ there like it was chump change.

“I don’t know if my _pretty model friend_ would appreciate dirty money, Mark.” Bambam informed, lying flat on his back as he held the stack to his chest. He stared at the ceiling for a while, thinking about how _insane_ his life was becoming, before he felt the bed stir beside him.

“Money is money, baby.” Mark hovered over his body and caressed the side of his face just like he had done in the club. But when the younger was anticipating another kiss, a stack of dollars was pressed to Bambam’s lips, waiting for him to open his mouth and hold it there.

“You get it how you get it.”

Mark lifted the bottom of his shirt, landing hot kisses to his stomach, making the younger squirm and groan around the thick stack of hundreds. His mind was fuzzy with _want,_ every touch was amplified, every kiss was hotter, wetter, sending shockwaves all over his body.

_Man, he was fucked up._

The thought of just how much money surrounded him at the moment made him feel higher than he’d ever felt in his entire life.

In that moment, he knew it was all he ever wanted.

Mark could see it in the way he looked up at him through his lashes. In the way his hips would grind into the air, in the way he had to pin him down harder than he had with Taehyung.

“I like being in control of it. I know you do too.”

Bambam probably could've reached his climax just like that. But after his eyes fell closed for a moment, it all just...faded away.

 

 

It felt like a fever dream. A crazy, fucked up trip.

 

 

When he opened his eyes once again, only Taehyung was beside him again.

And they _weren’t_ in an expensive loft, no, far from that.

They were in Bambam’s apartment, fully clothed and tangled up in each other on his couch.

When the hell did they get back home? _How?_

“W-What...Taetae..” He shook the boy awake by moving his lower body since he’d taken to wrapping himself around it. “Tae, get off me, man.” After a few shakes, the brunette’s head slowly rose, groaning in confusion as he looked around the unfamiliar apartment.

“We got kidnapped, didn't we?”

“This is _my_ apartment. We must’ve taken a cab back, or somethin’...I don’t remember shit.”

“You’ve got a cool pad...” Taehyung mumbled and rubbed his eyes, looking around like he was trying to reconnect with the universe again.

After the night he’d had, that probably wasn’t far from the truth.

“Thanks...” Bambam whispered. It was his first apartment. The first place he ever really had to himself, _by_ himself. Bambam spent a lot of his disposable cash on stupid little things to decorate it. He didn't understand people who kept their places plain. He’d rather everyone know as soon as they walked in that it was _his_ place.

“You paint?”

“Huh?”

“Right there on the wall. I really fuckin’ love it right now, for some reason. Adds some ambiance to the place.” Taehyung pointed to a multi-colored, splattered and streaky painting that hung right above his TV like an ugly little centerpiece.

“Shut the fuck up... _that_ piece of shit?”

It was this ‘abstract’ painting he’d done as a joke after he’d come back from some stuffy art showing uptown, instead of the usual ones he went to. This hipster basically called him an uncultured idiot after he asked Bambam what he thought of a painting similar to this, and he jokingly responded _‘it looks like your brain on drugs’._

Apparently, it was a Pollock.

“Nah I love it, for real. You’re a regular Van Gogh, huh?”

Van Gogh, his ass. After that showing, Bambam bought a row of children's paint at the dollar store, smoked a joint, and just _did_ it. It was his first painting and the ugliest one of em’ all at that. Yet weirdly enough, Bambam kept painting more and more after that one time. He found out he had a liking for it. _Go figure._

“You like art, Hollywood?”

“I like Basquiat. And now you, apparently.”

“Good man.” Bambam ruffled the brunette’s hair with a smile.

After that, both boys reveled in the silence, letting the sound of the city’s commotion through the open window of wake them up officially. Both of them watched the sun shine through the window and highlight the dust particles in the air, almost transfixed in that weird way people are when they first wake up. When their brains aren't live enough to focus on anything else.

Except on why the sun was that damn bright in the _morning._

“Wait...what time is it, Bam?”

Bambam cursed and looked at the clock on the wall.

2pm.

Fuck. He had that shoot in _two hours._

“I have a shoot at four with that Trip guy. I need to call Wayne…”

Taehyung turned to him, seeming to be way more alert after that sentence.

“Trip...Trip Hansen? That photographer?” He looked around Bambam’s apartment, rubbing his hands over his face to try to wake himself up. “I dunno if that’s a good idea, Bammie...”

“But I-”

“Don’t call that asshole. You don’t need him, Bambam.” Taehyung proclaimed begrudgingly. “After this, you can use _my_ manager instead, I’ll let her know and everything will be cool. We may even get a real shoot together, hm?”

Taehyung yawned, stretching his arms out above his head before he looked at Bambam again.

“Just...fuck Wayne, alright. Let’s chill today. Watch some cartoons, eat some cereal, make out- literally _anything else._ I don't wanna see you down like that again.”

Bambam turned to him. “You...you remember last night?”

Taehyung sensed the embarrassment coming off of Bambam in waves. He had no reason to feel bad about some asshole mistreating him.

“Not everything, Bammie...but definitely _that_ bullshit. Between me and you...I didn’t even like him when I saw em’ at that casting...gave me a bad feeling. Kinda like the one I have now.” Taehyung turned the TV on for background noise, then dragged himself to the kitchen.

“You got Fruit Loops in here?”

Bambam sighed, watching the brunette dig around his kitchen cabinets. He didn’t remember much of anything from last night, except Taehyung’s coke, Wayne fighting with him and of course the body shot fiasco with Mark. Fuck.

_Mark._

“Who the _hell_ doesn't have Fruit Loops?! I’m hungover, you bitch!”

Bambam ignored the boy and tried to clean up the area a little. It was obvious they stumbled through here last night in the sloppiest of ways - he was lucky they even remembered to lock the door.

He finally spotted his jacket on the ground. Bambam snatched it up to throw into his closet when suddenly, two hard thuds hit the ground, followed by a tiny piece of white paper floating above it.

_Oh, shit._

There were two stacks of hundred dollar bills piled on his floor and a phone number written on this note that said:

**_‘For whenever you lose control - Mark’_ **

“What the _fuck…”_ he muttered under his breath, peeking over at Taehyung as he grabbed the two money stacks. He slipped one out of the stack and held them up to the light of his windows.

Yeah, they were real.

And they were for _them._

Bambam debated keeping it from Taehyung in order not to scare him, but there was no way he was going through this alone. _Whatever_ this is.

“Um, Taetae…” He slowly walked over to the kitchen area, gulping as he watched his friend devouring the last of his Honey Nut Cheerios from his favorite Pooh Bear bowl.

Luckily, he didn’t even have half a mind to be pissed now, anyway.

“Yes, my darling...”

Bambam held the stacks in the air and Taehyung choked on his cheerios.

The model actually dropped the bowl onto his floor, _but_ _again,_ he didn’t have half a mind to be pissed at that moment.

He was too fucking _confused_ to feel anything else.

“Did we...did we whore ourselves out for cash last night?”

“Holy shit…” Taehyung snatched a stack from his hand, hastily popping the rubber band and counting until both of their eyes grew to the size of china plates.

“I don't know...but if we did...”

He spread the money on the kitchen counter and looked at his best friend.

 

“Then we did _a damn good_ job...”

 

-

 

“Ah, I see you got him here after last night. I wasn’t sure you’d be able to wake him up.”

 

Two hours later and sure enough, _here he was._

Bambam watched Wayne shake Trip Hansen’s hand, leaving him lingering at the door of the studio as usual.

Much to Taehyung’s dismay, when 4 pm rolled around, they weren’t eating cereal and watching He-Man reruns - because Wayne’s car had pulled up outside of Bambam’s apartment to get him for his photoshoot. The brunette refused to leave until he saw that Bambam was in the car safely. Bambam just told him to head home and get more sleep, insisting that the older didn’t have to worry about him, and he was just ‘taking care of business’.

Funny way to put it considering who he was waiting on, but hey.

Taehyung had stood outside of his building, staring at Bambam through the windows with a worried expression until Wayne took off without a second glance.

He knew his friend repeatedly said he had a weird feeling about the day, but Taehyung had gone so hard last night, Bambam didn't really put his ‘ _feelings’_ into serious consideration. At least until he was sure the man was completely clean of last night.

“He knows how to separate business from play, that’s why he’s my favorite.”

Wayne turned back to Bambam with a small smirk on like he used to.

_Well, that's a good sign._

The younger uncrossed his arms, walking closer to the two men and planting himself at Wayne’s side. He felt like the older man wasn’t mad at him anymore, despite how he’d been ignoring him on the ride here. A weight was removed from Bambam’s shoulders at that thought of a truce. He was even willing to forget all the stupid shit they’d said and done last night if Wayne was.

Bambam hated holding grudges. They required too much energy.

Trip smiled, casting a wink at the younger. “I like him too. He’s my favorite of all that you’ve brought me...I think he’ll definitely be a ‘megastar’ after I shoot with him. I’ll get the shots to the right people. He’ll be a hot topic in _no time.”_

Bambam shifted on his feet beside Wayne. For some reason, the nerves in his stomach tied up into knots at Trip’s words. Maybe because he was still new to this, _or_ because Trip was actually the real deal and could follow through on his words if Bambam did well today.

In other words: _He had to be perfect._

“Great! Alright, I’ll leave you two to it. Bye, babe.”

“Uh- okay…” Bambam stiffened up as Wayne kissed his cheek in public, in front of a _colleague,_ calling him babe, like it was nothing to him when he knew the man felt otherwise.

What the hell was _that_ about?

Trip didn’t seem to care, immediately going to the record player and turning on some mood music for the shoot. Bambam eyed the set wearily, not knowing what he was supposed to do. That wasn't an irregularity for just his second shoot.

Instead of just the blank white backdrop from last time, there was an actual _bed_ in the middle of the floor, just sitting there.

Bambam gingerly sat on it, toying with the cheaply made pink sheets.

Weirdly enough, this whole situation made Bambam remember where he and Taehyung had ended up last night. In Mark’s bed.

These sheets were nothing like the silky ones from Mark’s room last night.

Trip clapped his hands together and snapped the younger from his daydream. “Okay, today we’re going for a fantasy concept. You're the guy of the viewers’ dreams. _Your_ goal is to make them believe that. Got it?”

The younger nodded, not exactly getting the best vibe from a ‘fantasy’ with a literal bed, but what could he do?

“O-Okay...so I just pose on it?” He sat on the bed, leaning his back against the golden bars and grabbing from the top of them.

“Is this okay?”

“Yes, perfect.”

Bambam tipped his head to the side, narrowing his eyes at the camera when the shutter went off.

“Yeah, keep going just like that. Do anything you want first to warm up.”

The boy nodded, continuing with more poses against the bars, biting his lip, doing whatever he could until he heard praise. Just like the shoot with Taehyung, it stopped feeling weird, it started feeling good after a while- natural to him, even.

He almost felt confident in what he was doing.

“Yes, stay on your knees just like that.”

For his next shots, he was on his knees in the middle of the bed, sitting back on his calves and staring straight at the camera for a while. And then the flashes stopped completely.

Bambam’s heart skipped a beat.

“Did I fuck u- do somethin’ wrong?”

Trip pursed his lips, a disappointed look clouded his face all of a sudden and it made the younger’s heart drop. “It’s not enough. I need you to switch positions, expressions, something. It’s supposed to be a fantasy. You’re a model, give me that fantasy!”

He sat there, trying to move into new poses but each move he did earned a negative reaction from the photographer.

Everything was going so well at first.

Now he felt _lost._

He didn't want to embarrass Wayne or himself, he knew he spoke highly of him. He had to fix this.

_Just calm down, fix it, it’ll be fine._

But why did he feel so nervous?

Bambam gulped, feeling a sheen of sweat on his forehead. Why was it so damn hot in there?

“U-Uh...c-can you t-tell me…”

“Speak up, baby.”

_Baby._

Bambam ignored the pet name, leaving his cringing on the inside as he wrung his palms. He hated feeling like this. Like everything he did was _wrong._

“Can you tell me what poses to do? I-I don’t wanna mess up anymore.” Bambam pleaded.

He swore he saw a smirk on Trip’s face after that, but it went away before he could even think about it any longer.

“You’re the model baby, I shouldn’t have to carry you through it.” The photographer teased mercilessly, making the younger shrink down into himself even further.

“I know, but I-”

“You wanna fix it, right?”

Bambam nodded, absentmindedly playing with one of the heart shaped pillows in front of him.

“Ask me again, then. Politely."

The younger’s brows furrowed.

_What? Was he rude the first time or something?_

“Help me fix my poses...please.”

Trip sat back in his chair. He had this satisfied smug look on his face that just frustrated him. Bambam was so done and fucking embarrassed, he just wanted to leave. But he couldn't.

Not without finishing this first.

“Get up on your knees again, but this time...play with your shirt.”

Bambam did as he was told. He tugged his t-shirt neckline down until his collarbone was exposed. He leaned his head to the side, exposing his neck - just like he had for Mark the previous night. He let his eyes fall closed at the thought, hearing the shutter go off a couple times before the photographer spoke again.

“Better, better! Now lift your shirt up from the bottom.”

The younger muttered a meek _‘okay’_ before he lifted it, hearing the shutters go off even more. He bit the bottom of the shirt in his teeth and exposed his stomach. The action reminded him of the stack Mark had him hold in his mouth, and then _nothing like that,_ all at once. The shutters went off endlessly almost. Until they stopped again.

_Ugh, what now?_

Bambam sat back on the bed, stretching his legs from being in that uncomfortable position so much. He knees were starting to ache.

The blonde posed on his back like that for a while, head against the pillows for one or two more photos in complete, tense silence until Trip spoke up again.

“I don't think your head’s in the game, little one.”

Bambam looked up from his spot on the bed at the man. “H-huh? Why?”

“You’re too tense.” Trip simply said, as if he solved all of the world's problems with one statement. “We _both_ know you’re not shy, so don’t act like it now. You were nothing like this last night. Where's that boy at now?”

Bambam wondered if Trip even knew his true age, if Wayne ever really told him, or if he _knew_ and just didn’t give a fuck.

He didn’t think of himself as a person who was tied down by that number because his life experiences far exceeded those of a child long ago. But there were times, times like _this_ when he wished people cared more.

Maybe Trip wouldn’t be looking him up and down like a slab of meat, if so.

“How are you gonna fix this shoot, Bambam? Wayne’s depending on you to give me perfection, and you’re holding back.”

Bambam noticed the record had long stopped spinning, leaving the studio in radio silence.

The photographer stood up and brought his chair right in front of the bed. The younger’s eyes followed every move the man made, feeling his breath become shallow.

“You don’t wanna disappoint him, do you?”

The tone of his voice was patronizing. It got under Bambam’s skin in the worst way, but what could he do? What could he say?

If he snapped, he could literally ruin _everything_ for himself.

“I...what do you want me to do?” Bambam asked, toying with the rips in his jeans.

Trip stared at him for a while before he spoke.

“Take off your shirt. It’s a fantasy, so not too much needs to be left to the imagination. That would be boring, wouldn't it?”

Bambam froze, not even realizing his hands were shaking until they reached for the thin fabric of his shirt.

Male models did shirtless shoots most of the time, this was nothing huge at all, it was to be expected.

Yet, he felt so _uncomfortable_ now - he wanted to escape.

“You want people to _want_ you. You did such a good job on the makeup, it draws people in perfectly. The darkness around your eyes, your lips.”

Trip said, eyes stalking the younger as he praised him, discreetly licking his lips when the shirt was discarded onto to floor beside the bed. Bambam covered himself with his arms the best that he could, big eyes watching in relief as the photographer walked back to the camera.

They took a few more shots, Bambam swallowing his pride the best that he could before he heard the words that threw him off for good:

“You know...Wayne didn’t tell me you were such a _tease.”_

His heart dropped.

Bambam swore he was fucking hearing things. If there was a record scratch moment in his life, it was definitely _that_ one.

Fuck this.

“ _What?_ What the hell did Wayne tell you about me?”

Trip then chuckled, “They always act like this at first.” he took a few more shots, but Bambam was done and they both knew it. “How do you think they get big, Bambam? You can’t just be a model. You have to do _more.”_

_More?_

More. Bambam’s breath left his body when he thought about how Wayne was acting before he left.

How his attitude had taken a _complete_ 180 as soon as they’d walked in, suddenly showing Bambam off like some prize when he couldn’t have been less bothered with him in the car.

How he kissed his cheek and called him _babe_ in front of someone else in public without a damn gun to his head. He should’ve fucking known.

And then the last thing he said to him.

_“I’ll leave you two to it.”_

He felt fucking _sick._

Did Wayne plan- did he _know_ this sick fuck was going to do this to him the whole time?

Was this something he _did_ to other boys?

Taehyung, someone who’s been in the business for half a decade, had to fucking know what they’re talking about, _told him_ he felt weird about this shit today and he didn’t think once about his warnings. He dismissed him like he would know better.

Fuck, he’s such an _idiot._

And now he’s going to pay for it.

“Fuck you and _fuck_ Wayne.”

Bambam quickly grabbed his shirt from the ground, stumbling on shaky legs across the studio where he remembered the door was. His breath was short, coming out in quick bursts once he approached the door. He gripped the doorknob, letting out a long string of curse words when it was fucking _stuck_ and wouldn’t budge.

 _“No, no, no,”_ he muttered, trying the doorknob once, twice, three times, feeling his eyes become hot with tears. “No! Fuck!” He cried out. Bambam was so pissed at the door that he didn’t think about Trip approaching him.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Trip slammed his back against the door, making him turn face to face with the sick photographer. Bambam’s wrists ached where they were pinned against the door.

“A fighter, huh? Wayne told me you had a mean streak, but you were just a weak little baby inside once he-”

Bambam spat in his face, lifting his knee up into the man’s crotch _hard_ until Trip shouted and pulled away.

Trip’s face morphed into a red canvas of pain and rage.

_“You little fucking-”_

The blonde took advantage of the opening provided and landed a punch to his jaw to get him down for a while. He frantically looked for a back door to escape from around the studio.

Luckily, there was one behind the backdrop. Bambam took off faster than he ever had before. He threw the door open, racing down the flight of stairs until he got to another door that led him out into the street.

Once out on the sidewalk, Bambam slipped his shirt back on and bolted down the block. His chest was on _fire_ and he felt like he had to throw up. Tears blurred his vision, but he didn't stop running until he knew he was far away from where Trip could potentially catch him. When he left his house, the sky was already approaching darkness and now he only had about an hour left until it was completely dark.

Bambam didn’t know exactly what street he was on now, but he saw a payphone nearby. He ran to it, throwing the glass door open and shutting himself inside. His ragged breaths turned to choking, but he grabbed the phone from the hook anyway.

He had to think.

Taehyung was obviously his first choice to call, but he didn’t want to prove him right about this whole thing going to Hell. Not that Taehyung would ever hold his over him, but could you blame him if he did? Bambam wasn’t thinking too fucking rationally after what had almost happened to him in there.

 _Nope._ Instead, he dug into his back jeans pocket and fished out the small white piece of paper he stuffed into his pants and dialed the number left for him on it.

After a few rings, he heard the phone come off of the hook, and that familiar deep voice at the end of the line.

_“Hello?”_

“I guess you can say I lost control, huh pretty boy?”

Bambam’s voice sounded strained and they both could tell.

_“Where are you?”_

Mark asked him straight up, not even bothering to join in on the banter.

“I dunno...I-I never really walk around here. Looks like I'm uptown somewhere? There's this grimy phone booth near this...adult DVD shop.” He tried to laugh but it only came out as a choked off sob. He swallowed the lump in his throat, rolling his eyes at this whole situation.

If there was one thing Bambam hated more than being broke or being controlled - it was asking for help.

”C-Can you come or not?”

_“I’m uptown. I’ll see you in five. Don’t move an inch - I’m serious.”_

And with that he hung up, leaving Bambam leaning against the phone booth to wait.

It didn't take long at all. In a few minutes, he saw Mark’s BMW parked right across the street.

The man leaned against the car in a dark blazer and jeans waiting for him with a more serious expression than he had the first night they met. The white street light beamed down, making him glow in an overt spotlight effect that made the whole thing look like a scene out of a movie. But Bambam quickly snapped out of it and hurried across the street. Formalities were skipped when they hopped back into the car.

And with that - they were on the way to the loft together for the second time in less than two days.

 

-

 

The second visit was different.

 

There was no looking around, no drunk haze to make everything appear grander than it was.

It was Bambam alone, back in this big ass loft with a man he still knew next to nothing about. Yet, he’d ended up calling on him when he needed someone. He figured he had nothing to lose at this point.

“Wayne set me up. I went to this photoshoot...this Trip Hansen guy...h-he was telling me to take off my clothes, a-and that...that Wayne didn’t tell him I was such a _tease_ ...like what the _fuck?”_

Bambam rambled on, having to pause to catch his breath at various parts of the recollection as Mark stared intently at him. The man sat quietly and still as he told the story back.

“I know exactly what could've gone down if I didn’t run...he said he wouldn't do this shit to me and I fucking believed it.”

Mark let the younger cry it out, he let him curl up on his bed after he’d showered there per his request to clear his head.

Bambam was in the older man’s clothes now, the larger size of them and signature musk of his cologne pulled Bambam into a deep sleep he didn’t know he needed.

When he woke up this time, Mark was pacing around the room with the phone in his hand, the duffle bag on the bed, along with white baggies of... _cocaine?_

“Mark…what’s all this?” he called out, the brunette stopping his task to look at the younger for a while before he spoke. “I took care of the situation while you were asleep. It should be cleared up within the next day or two.”

“W-What d’you mean you _took care_ of it?”

The brunette sat on the bed, staring at Bambam’s form for a while as if he was searching for something in specific. “Means you don’t need to worry about it anymore. Now, sit up, wipe those tears off, and listen carefully.” Mark spoke soft but firm, making Bambam nod his head automatically.

“Now...you were used, babe. _Badly_.” Bambam bristled at the word ‘babe’, but it was different when Mark had said it. It seemed less... _nasty._ He didn’t feel like he was in danger.

“It fucking sucks, but I’m sure glad you called me. And I’m glad we met while I was out here. It seems to have been the right timing for the both of us.”

Bambam only stared, waiting for the older to continue. He sat up on the bed, making himself smaller by bringing his legs to his chest and resting his head on his knees.

“For the record, I think you’d make a _beautiful_ model. I really, really do. You don't need me to tell you how good you look.”

“Really?” Bambam asked, lifting his head up to look at the older.

“Oh yeah...but you could do _so_ much better, Bambam. I could just see it all over you. When we first met at the bar, when I brought you back here and you saw right through me.” He chuckled lightly, making the younger smile at him. Mark thought he looked as young as he was when he smiled that way. He didn’t know where the confusion lied with those men. Then, Mark paused, because maybe they weren’t _confused_ at all. It was clear where Bambam drew the line.

They were just sick.

“I finally wanna show you what I do. What you could _easily_ be a part of.”

Bambam watched him lay out baggies of cocaine, all different sizes and amounts together like an array of flowers. Weird comparison, he knows.

Mark held up a round baggie with a big bulb at the end.

“This is your eight ball. Runs about 250 to 300 when it’s really good, back in the Bay. I raise it high in New York since there’s crack and speed everywhere, and people like to fuck around by cutting their shit with meth. I usually leave the dealing to lower ranks, but every now and then I like to deal my own product when I’m out of Cali, just to see how it does. Keeps me humble.”

Bambam’s mind short-circuited at the influx of information, and his brows certainly furrowed at what he could’ve possibly meant by _lower ranks,_ but he nodded his head as the man continued.

“For the basics. A gram is about a hundred, half is 50, quarter 25, obviously. Depends on the quality and where you’re at, who you're selling to. You know, logistics.”

No, Bambam _didn't_ know what logistics were.

Mark could very easily see the troubled look on the younger's face before he reached out, lifting his chin up to make Bambam meet his eyes.

“Taehyung got a good deal from me, but don’t do that unless you have the cash to back that shit up. I don’t care how cute you think they are, newbie.” The older smirked, removing his hand but Bambam grabbed it back, pulling the older onto the bed with him.

“Why you showin’ _me_ all this, huh?”

Mark bit his lip, gaze falling down to Bambam’s, then flickering back up to his eyes - until they both ended up practically _pouncing_ on each other.

Mark let Bambam pin him down, knowing the other wanted control now more than ever. He chuckled to himself when he felt shy, tentative kisses to his lips, his jaw, his neck - despite being given the dominant role. It revealed the true nature of the boy in front of him. Where Taehyung wanted Mark to completely dominate him the night before, Bambam wanted the opposite to ground himself. Mark couldn't blame him for that after how the night could’ve turned out for the boy.

“I’m going back to LA tomorrow night.” Mark said in his ear, making Bambam sit up straight with a frown. 

He’d just met him and now he was leaving? After everything?

“How does that answer my question?”

“How do you think? You’re comin’ with me.”

 _What did he just say?_ The confusion was evident all over Bambam’s face.

“Um...I don’t know much about dealing, but I heard you’re not supposed to sample the merchandise.”

“Very funny, but I’m serious.”

Mark sat up against the headboard, Bambam moving from his lap to the spot next to him.

“I’m talking about _you_ getting on a plane and leaving this city with me. I’ll show you my stomping grounds and everything about me. Who I am, my whole world...start you up fresh and teach you everything. All by the sunny California beaches and the beautiful sunsets. _All_ the money you could make right on your own. How’s that sound, baby?”

Bambam chuckled, trying his hardest not to visualize the images the older laid out. It was ridiculous, wasn't it? To just up and leave everything behind like this?

“You know you sound like one of those corny vacation brochures, right?”

Mark shrugged. _“Maybe so._ Can’t tell me you don’t wanna escape this place. After everything?”

The younger took a deep breath.

_How could he leave Manhattan?_

His only home for the last 19 years wouldn't be easy to let go of.

Well, truth be told, days here had gotten drearier and drearier for Bambam long ago. His personal life was dead. He was too used to the city and too broke to leave it. The _‘charm’_ people speak of only counts if you aren’t from there. Here, the citizens know the danger around every corner, the true price of freedom in the city. He could party and party all he wanted, but the reality was the still the same:

The statue of liberty ain’t all _that_ pretty up close.

So, maybe it _was_ time for him to go. This was the chance for everything to change - once and for all - on _his_ terms. The beaches and sunset did sound pretty nice, and making his own money?

That sounded even nicer.

But there was one thing Bambam just couldn’t leave behind.

“I can’t go. Not without Taehyung, I’m not.”

Mark smirked, looking like he expected nothing less from the younger with that statement.

“Of course not. I’d never ask you to do that.”

Bambam fell back onto the bed. He stared up at the ceiling once again, _really_ thinking.

Taehyung has been alone for six years here doing just fine. Maybe he didn’t want to go. But the thought of that was too devastating to say out loud, even if he’d only known the older for a _week_.

“You’ll set us up all nice, right? Two bedrooms near the beach, with those stupid huge king beds?”

“Deal. A really modest one, at that.”

“Told you I was low maintenance.” Bambam sat up, running a hand through his hair as he looked at the older.

If only he knew then what he was walking into.

“We’ll meet you at the shore, pretty boy.”

 

-

 

Instead of going home after Mark’s place, Bambam found himself smack dab in the middle of Koreatown at 12 am in the pouring rain, knocking on door 126 until he saw his best friends face.

“Bammie, I was so worried! Where the fuck were you-”

The younger immediately buried himself into the older's arms.

Neither said a thing when his tears seeped through Taehyung’s sleep shirt or when they both pulled out the leftover Jjigae and cried together over what happened to him.

They cried over their lives being fucked up for so long _and_ cried over the fact it had only been a week and they were the missing pieces of each other's (as corny as it all fucking sounded).

They couldn't help the truth.

 

_“Taetae…”_

_“Yeah, Bammie?”_

_“I want you to come with me.”_

_“Sure, but where?”_

 

“Don’t agree before I _say_ anything, geez…” Bambam lightly chuckled, staring out of Taehyung’s small view from his living room window where they were crowded near the heater.

Taehyung shoved him. “Tell me, seriously. I wanna know.”

The blonde looked up at his friend, taking his hand in his. “Los Angeles. I wanna get out, Tae. I _need_ to get out."

Taehyung had all the right in the world to call him crazy and turn him down. Why wouldn’t he? He moved _here_ for his career all the way from Daegu, not California.

But that didn’t stop Bambam from trying (begging, more like it).

“Mark’s getting us a place, it’s got a beach view, our own California king beds, probably fruit loops in the cabinet. I-I know it’s selfish to ask you this...but I’m not seein' this without you.”

Taehyung just sighed, leaning against his best friend’s shoulder. If he leaned any closer, he could probably hear Bambam’s heart slamming in his chest, waiting for his decision.

“It’s been a _long_ six years, Bammie. I never made one friend as good as you’ve been to me in _one week._ I’ve been living the same old routine since I was 15…” Taehyung had started to tear up, roughly wiping the tears with the back of his hand. “I love what I do, but...I can’t _stand_ _it_ here anymore.”

They both sat in the silence of the apartment, letting the sounds of their pouring city fill in the blanks for the last time.

“Then it’s settled, Hollywood. We’re outta here.” Bambam resolved, running a hand through Taehyung’s hair. “We’ll bake Mrs. Lim a cake before we go, okay? She’ll fuckin’ love it.”

They both pulled each other into a tight hug, just soaking in the weight of their decision.

Starting a new life? Traveling across the country with your best friend?

It couldn't get any better than that.

Until Bambam spotted a baseball bat leaning in the corner of the living room and a devilish smile rose to the younger’s lips.

“Before all that, though...we need to do _one_ last thing.”

Bambam got up and grabbed the bat, rolling it in his hands with pure wonder and mischievous intent swirling in his eyes.

“You down, Hollywood?”

Taehyung looked at him with a grin wider than a Cheshire cat.

“Let’s fuckin’ do it.”

 

-

 

Taehyung cheered when the bat came smashing into the driver's side window.

Bambam really appreciated the support, he swore he did. But yelling words of encouragement that could be heard _five_ blocks away while he was committing a crime wasn't exactly his style.

And of course, being a loyal, pissed best friend, Taehyung had also joined in on the action.

 

_“Are you sure this is his car?!”_

_“Tae, shut the fuck up and smash the windshield!”_

_“Okay, captain!”_

_“Break the porcelain first, dumbass!”_

_“The what?! Can we just go inside and break his bones?!”_

 

The two were soaking wet in the pouring rain, dressed head to toe in black clothing with face masks covering them in case they were spotted.

The boys took necessary precaution but doubted anyone would care. As was obvious from the depressing state of the local news, the NYPD was scarce and didn’t give a fuck about crimes in the way they should have. In addition to the fact New Yorker’s tended to mind their business where it didn't concern them.

And that was fucking amazing because Bambam _really_ needed to wreck Wayne’s car.

“Hand me that bat, Taetae.”

Bambam carefully climbed onto the hood of the car, swinging the bat behind him like he was on the baseball diamond. Taehyung had taken the back windshield and he claimed the front for himself, but he felt a certain trepidation about it when it was time.

Would this even solve anything?

_“Just do it, Bammie. Stop thinkin’ so damn much!”_

Taehyung chimed in at just the right time. The blonde nodded, adjusting his face mask and gloves before he gripped the bat again.

After this, he was going far away from _stupid_ Wayne, this _stupid_ city, the _stupid_ rats, and the dirty ass subway.

His life was changing after this.

Bambam would be different, they both would.

In fact, he was going to think of this wrecked car as a version of his old self. Yeah, that was good. Very symbolic.

This was a form of therapy or some shit like that, right?

 

_“This is for using me!”_

 

When Bambam smashed the bat down on the windshield, the exhilaration he felt when it shattered was unmatched by anything he ever felt. Other than copious amounts of money near him, he never felt this powerful. In control.

For the first time in his life, he actually had _control._

 

_“This is for lying to me, fuckin’ bastard!”_

 

Each phrase came with another broken part of the car, wet fabric under his mask from his tears, and Taehyung cheering him on like he was a superstar on center stage while he ruined the rest of the car.

 

_“And this is for…”_

 

He was one smash away for completely shattering the windows.

This would really be it.

After this, they’d take off running, hand in hand with two plane tickets in their name and their bags already packed.

_“This is for…”_

The younger looked to Taehyung, who quickly supplied:

“ _California!!!”_

_“Huh? We’re smashing a car, not making a toast!”_

Bambam threw his head back to laugh, Taehyung following as he shouted it over and over again.

They probably looked insane, but who really gave a shit now? They were fucking _out_ of there.

 

_“This is for California! You’ll never see me again, you sick fuck! I’ll be sipping Mimosas on the beach!”_

 

The window was completely broken to smithereens. The two boys screeched at the sound, and Taehyung grabbed Bambam off the hood of the car, running with the lanky boy in his arms down the street. It was definitely a sight to behold for any onlookers.

By the time they got to Bambam’s, the both of them collapsed onto the bed, staring at each other in silence until they both busted out in contagious giggles.

The brunette tore off his face mask, panting as he stared up at the ceiling. “You think they’ll catch us?”

Bambam shrugged. “We’ll be gone tomorrow. It won't really fuckin’ matter, will it?”

“So we’re technically on the run?”

“If you wanna think of it that way.”

“That’s perfect as hell.” Taehyung sat up, peering his eyes up at his brown strands. “Because I wanna dye my hair _red._ The agency never let me, you know?”

“Well, you’re a model, Tae.” The blonde tipped his head to the side, picking at his currently drenched, bleached strands. He’d dyed it when he left home and never changed it since.

Maybe it was time to switch things on that front too.

Bambam smirked at the older. “But...we _would_ have less of a chance to get caught if we did dye our hair, right?”

And in no time, it was decided.

The two boys picked up some box dye the next day, walking into the airport with new appearances and new attitudes to go with them.

Taehyung was the redhead he always wanted to be and Bambam went with a deep, dark, midnight black that the older couldn't stop touching to save his life.

He figured Taehyung was trying to distract himself from how emotional he was about leaving.

Mrs. Lim really _had_ appreciated the cake, especially the grandkids. They each drew him a photo, all of Taehyung, his favorite cartoon characters - and always something to do with Marty Mcfly. The woman was worried sick about who’d keep Taehyung fed when he was so far away. But Bambam insisted he’d make sure the older was healthy.

They took their seats on the first class flight, Taehyung holding Bambam’s hands as the turbulence of the plane's take off shook them.

Unlike Taehyung, Bambam had never flown from New York for anything except visiting Thailand once or twice when he was younger. He hated planes then, and even more now.

Time to distract _himself_ now.

Bambam turned to the older, “You must be real ready for California, huh? You look a bit _too_ nice over there.”

The redhead grinned, smoothing out his light blue button down shirt with an embroidered snake on the collar.

“It’s Gucci, you know. Mrs. Lim gave it to me as a gift.”

Bambam’s eyes grew _wide. “Holy shit,_ Taetae, let me see!” He tugged the boy closer by his shoulders, examining the collar closely when he caught some Korean looking lettering on the collar sewn in red to match the snake’s body.

“What’s this on the collar? It looks Korean?”

Taehyung went red at the mention of it, bashfully rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s 별. It literally means ‘star’. That’s what she always called me since I was a kid.”

“ _Byeol?”_ He repeated, earning a shy nod from Taehyung for his pronunciation. “Like how I always call you Hollywood?”

“It can,” he yawned mid-sentence, unfolding his blanket. “But like an actual star in the sky.”

A huge grin grew on the younger's face before he attacked the redhead in a crushing hug. “That’s cute as shit, asshole....oh, wow! _Byeol!”_

“Shut the fuck up, will you?” Taehyung groaned, pushing the younger off with a giggle. Bambam wasn't the _only_ one who thought the older was destined for bigger things.

After a few minutes of silence, Taehyung turned to the younger.

“Hey, Bam?”

“Yeah?”

Taehyung adjusted his blanket along the complementary sleeping mask (where the hell did he find that?) sitting on the top of his head.

“I hope Wayne shits himself when he sees his car. Like literally shits himself on the fuckin’ spot.”

Bambam laughed, hitting the older in the face with one of the airline pillows.

“Me too, Hollywood. Me too.”

When the flight took off, Taehyung had fallen asleep with thoughts of the beach, their new apartment, and a new life ahead with his favorite person.

Bambam thought about Mark, and how their newfound freedom came with a steep price:

_Kilos of cocaine and more money than they’d ever seen in their lives._

He didn't want Taehyung to be a part of that, rather wanting the older to continue to pursue modeling, acting, whatever he wanted to because he deserved it.

Taehyung and Bambam _both_ deserved it.

He just hoped they wouldn't regret it.

 

 

 

**CHANNEL 2 NEWSWATCH**

**WEDNESDAY 06 OCTOBER 1986**

**_“Good Evening, New York. Is Corporate America breaking at the seams?_ **

**_Wall Street Investor Wayne Garrett of Garrett and Co. found dead in home by wife after a supposed dip in company stocks._ **

**_More at 11.”_ **

 

**\---**

 

**NY1**

**FRIDAY 08 OCTOBER 1986**

**_“Good Evening, we have just received word of another suicide. Manhattan photographer Trip Hansen was found shot and dead in his vehicle._ **

**_Details at 10.”_ **

 

 

**END OF ACT I**


	3. ACT II PART I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kunpimook Bhuwakul wasn’t an ambitious child.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (warning: one homophobic slur used) I finished typing act 2 and it's gonna go longer than I thought dfgfdsa more consistent updates will be on the way, I typed more than I should drop at once lmao. enjoy this and tell me your thoughts after! also, I created a [trailer](http://amerithotkongs.tumblr.com/post/160662642521/after-this-theyd-take-off-running-hand-in-hand) for this as well!

**_Manhattan, NY 1972_ **

 

Kunpimook Bhuwakul wasn’t an ambitious child.

 

 _That_ was something he never bothered to be.

When you grew up with limited circumstances, you got acquainted with reality faster than what was fair. You knew what was possible, what you needed to trash, all before you reached junior high.

You knew to stop being _that_ kid _._

The kid that believed the teachers’ and principal’s bullshit speeches — the ones about how you could be anything you put your mind to, but then you got to class and saw the shitty materials and how the fucked up education system said the opposite.

Even then, Bambam had a knack for making lemonade out of whatever he could; but when he came home to a family struggling to making ends meet, he knew the truth.

_“Alright, everyone gather around in a circle! Criss-cross applesauce, ‘right?”_

_“Good, good_ _—_ _hey_ _,_ _keep your hands to yourselves! There’s no need to shove.”_

The year was 1972. Bambam was around five or six years old, pulling at the threads of the clothes his mother stitched up just for him at home. He always wanted new clothes from the stores like the other kids whose parents bought it for them — but that was just that: a _want_. His mother was a seamstress, and she did her best with what she had. His father… well, he barely saw him as it was.

_“I want everyone here to tell me what their biggest dream is. What do you want to be when you grow up?”_

A young Bambam huffed at the topic. _Biggest dream?_  Who cares what their biggest dreams were if they’ll never be able to do anything? None of them were rich. They were lucky school lunch was free.

Yet as the class went around the circle, every kid stood up one by one. Each of them were saying things only kids would say.

_“I’m gonna be a doctor when I get big!”_

_“That’s boring! I wanna be a cowboy! Like those ones on TV!”_

_“That’s stupid!”_

_“Hey, be respectful...”_

_“Um… I wanna be a doctor and a cowboy… and an astronaut superhero!”_

Everyone gasped, a chorus of _ooh’s and ahh’s_ with hundreds of different careers hurdling to the middle of the circle all at once. All Bambam could think about was whether his mother would be making anything tonight or if he had to stock up on food there.

Also, how _stupid_ he thought these kids were for the shit they were saying.

Bambam pulled at the strings on his sneakers, sighing when the bunny loop he worked hard to do had come loose. The teacher seemed to mistake it as input.

_“Bambam. You seem to have something to say. How about you, huh?”_

The young boy sucked in a breath. Why did she have to call on him? He slowly lifted his head up, looking around at all the students and teacher waiting for his answer.

_“It doesn’t matter.”_

The teacher’s brows furrowed at how _resigned_ the boy sounded.

_“What do you mean, Bambam? Of course it does.”_

The six year old shrugged. _“It’s stupid. None of this is real and you know it.”_

The kids didn’t seem to like that point of view.

He got all the little insults thrown his way; most of them he could shrug off, then some that actually hurt because children didn’t hold back for shit. The teacher calmed everyone down before trying with him once more. A six year old couldn’t honestly think that way, right? Everyone had a dream.

_“What do you want, Bambam? Forget what you think is possible and just say one thing. There has to be something he wants to be. Anything. Right, guys?”_

The kids nodded. Some egged him on in anticipation. This could be the first time some of them heard Bambam talk since he wasn’t a very social child.

 _“Okay…”_ He wrapped the lace around his finger until the blood rushed to the tip. _“I wanna be...I wanna be...”_

Bambam worried his bottom lip between his teeth. He looked down at his homemade pants and the thread he was pulling at all day. He seemed to draw courage from the sight.

Bambam took a deep breath when he finally looked up again.

There was a blinding smile.

 

 

_“I wanna be the richest man in the world. I wanna be a millionaire.”_

 

Kunpimook Bhuwakul always took what he wanted.

He didn’t believe in waiting on the right moment, a streak of luck, _dreaming._ Even as a child, it was never hard for him to see things for what they really were. He wasn’t a kid you could easily lie to too many times before he started biting back.

And bite back, Bambam did.

Eleven years later in his Junior year of high school, he was on the streets. School was about to get out; the air was muggy and disgustingly sticky on his skin. He was alone for four days. He slept in an abandoned building downtown until he dropped his pride and asked a friend he’d met for help.

That _friend_ wasn’t any school peer, nor anyone his parents ever would’ve known.

His name was Julian Lockeheart.

Bambam had met him on the first day while wandering near the Meatpacking District too late at night. Perhaps sending the wrong message to people around him, being that he was practically a child amidst sex workers making their nightly runs.

Julian was young himself, only in his early 20’s, originally hailing from Brooklyn. He was picking up a friend before he worked his shift at the gay bar right across from the New York Times called _Blossom._ When he saw the thin, dodgy-eyed, 17 year old hunched in one of the alley ways with a cigarette he bummed from someone, it stirred something inside of him — he had to _act._

He couldn’t leave a child there, and the boy had obviously ran away from home… so, naturally, he snuck the boy into the club. Julian paid who he had to pay to keep it hush. He kept him in the back watching late night cartoons on the small television until he got off his shift. It wasn’t the soundest decision, but he did what he could. He’d even gotten him to come back to his house to rest, but Bambam snuck out early morning for school, making Julian believe he was gone for good.

That wasn’t the case when the boy came back the next night with tears in his eyes because he wanted to go home after school but couldn’t.

 

_“What did you do? Why can’t you go home?”_

 

_“I wanted to help.”_

 

It was all Bambam would say.

Julian didn’t know what it meant until he was on the couch, sorting through and counting his tips for the night when Bambam burst into tears and blabbered out most of the story.

He’d stolen money to help his mother out with their rent and most of their basic living since his father had blown it all on alcohol.

She obviously put two and two together from a 17 year old carrying that much cash. The guilt was too much for the child to handle. Harsh words were exchanged, and they couldn’t be taken back. So, he’d done the only thing he knew how to do — _he ran off_.

They didn’t talk details. Julian didn’t care for them.

They just sat together most nights while Bambam helped count his tips. He asked about his life and bartending. Every now and then, left of field questions came up — _like_ , what he would do tomorrow if millions of dollars were sitting pretty, wrapped on his doorstep like a Christmas gift? Would he leave everything behind and _‘go backpacking in France or some shit’?_

All discussed with stars in his eyes and a feral interest that made the boy even more endearing, more interesting to Julian.

He noticed though Bambam didn't speak much, didn't seem to come with a lot of hope; when it came to money, whether he was despising how little he had or how much he wanted… it brought vibrancy, a _fire_ to the boy. The cadence in his voice changed, hands clutching the nearest object in eagerness, then this _smile…_ Julian didn't know if he'd end up filthy rich later in life or a crook.

It didn't matter to him.

With the galaxy in Bambam’s eyes, he didn't bother to address the impracticability of the questions, like he didn’t even notice.

Julian just said he’d be a million dollar bartender with a five dollar haircut.

Bambam never understood that answer.

What he _did_ understand from his short time with Julian was that there were still genuine people in the world. People not like his father, who trash his family's fortune on his own vices, and then have the gall to use the same liquor-tained tongue to spite his own wife — and more often, his only son.

But people like Julian Lockeheart. People that just… _cared._

Bambam wished he could care more.

He couldn’t _possibly_ care. If he had, his mother’s bills wouldn’t be paid right now. He would’ve thought about the person he stole from and _their_ bills.

On a hot summer afternoon, with the Manhattan sunset falling behind the rough outline of cityscape, Bambam told Julian he didn’t regret what he’d done.

Even if it landed him in this position, he’d have done it again and again without fail.

_“I would've been on the streets eventually.”_

Julian told him he was too young to be that jaded.

Then Bambam asked him what _jaded_ meant.

Julian chuckled, leaning back in his rickety beach chair with a shrug and a heart-shaped pick in his hair that he often misplaced and had a backup for.

 _“S’nothin big….it’s like, blasé blah, you know?_ ”

Bambam laughed at the way he’d put things, finding his lessons more savory than from his monotone teachers. He’d learned a new word with his feet pressed on a hot tar rooftop, sipping away at his cold chocolate milk with the brown bag around it like it was something stronger.

Bambam made himself a promise to ask Julian more questions. And he'd broken his own promise not too long after.

It happened right before the last day of school.

He was one down, one year closer to the liberation from that shit excuse of an institution that he’d craved. Bambam had a final exam the next day and naturally, he’d chosen Julian and _Blossom_ rather than studying. However, the young bartender was adamant, _insistent_ , on Bambam getting at least a passing letter to end out the year.

Julian told the boy to go straight to his place and ‘ _bury his head in those books’._

He said he’d bring him a present if he did.

 _Blossom_ was raided by cops that night.

_“This is a motherfucking raid! Every faggot to the rear!"_

Of course, people got hurt.

And of _course,_ Julian — poor, swollen-hearted, full of tender love and care _Julian_ — found himself on the other end of a cop’s gun as the price. Trying to protect people, _caring_ for people. That's what it had gotten him.

Julian had never came back home and Bambam had never gotten his present.

No, he just got a bunch of guilt and tanking grades, achy feet, and sore throats from dead-end protests. He got to hear rumors about the publication from across the street being the reason for the raid.

It was baggage he had to learn to carry without becoming _blasé blah_ about the quality of life.

He halfway succeeded, graduating and getting odd-jobs until the less than desired cash turn-out drove him into an aimless blue period.

Life came at him fast, his looks developed even faster. That was when he turned everything around and used himself to get what he wanted. Bambam hadn’t made a move to care for anyone since.

Not until he met _Kim Taehyung._

The 21 year old model slipped into the cracks of his life so snug and concrete, so _sure._ As if he was supposed to be there. They got close so quickly it was unreal.

Bambam often waited for the moment it would spoil, for the whirlwind of their relationship to turn into a hurricane.

Bambam always thought _he_ would be the one to ruin them.

 

But now, here he was. Here _they_ were.

 

All the way across the country, sitting in a blue Chevy Impala with the radio blasting down the streets of Los Angeles. All complete with the presence of a huge pile of cash sitting in a Louis Vuitton carry-on in the passenger seat right next to him.

Kunpimook Bhuwakul _wasn’t_ an ambitious child.

But that child grew up and started thinking a little more out of the box _._

Looking reminiscent of when he was six, he just couldn’t keep the grin off of his face. God, he just _knew_ what people would think if they saw him now.

_‘What does he do? How did he make all that money? Stock broker? Real-estate agent?’_

_‘Business guy, for sure. Gotta be a corporate guy, right? Those guys always make bank.’_

They could call it whatever they wanted.

Bambam wasn’t selling mom and pop joints to corporate guys and watching the Dow Jones all day. He wasn't sitting on his ass in a cubicle wearing a 3-piece.

He wasn’t a doctor, a cowboy _or_ an astronaut — _certainly_ not a model anymore.

Bambam’s office was California, and on this particular day, his business consists of cruising through the affluent neighborhoods in LA. The ones untouched by gang violence, but by high class white women with too much time on their hands and husbands who didn’t pleasure them, making them turn to the next best thing rich people always turned to:

_Cocaine._

Pounds and pounds of it. Enough to fill a room to the ceiling over the course of a year, nevermind her equally-as-bored little friends.

The politicians’ housewives weren’t his preferred clients, but they paid well.

Personally, he enjoyed dealing with the mistresses. They were _way_ more interesting and did a _hell_ of a lot more blow. Which meant he got a hell of a lot more of a bang for his buck once profits came rolling in. Not as much as he desired, but enough to please him for the time being. Until it just... wouldn’t be.

Kunpimook Bhuwakul always took what he wanted.

And he wanted to be a _millionaire_ after all.

 

 

**ACT II: ‘CALIFORNIA KING’ (1987)**

 

The obnoxious blare of the ringtone inside of the car interrupted Bambam’s mood music. He picked the phone up with a groan. It couldn't be anyone the fuck else.

“Taehyung, really? You know I’m cruising right now. The car phone stops the music when you call - told you this a million times.”

 _“Oh, that’s the tone you're goin’ for today? That’s too bad,”_ he heard crackling on the other line from the static. _“I even considered giving you a birthday blowjob today, but you fucked that up leavin’ so fast this morning, hm?”_

Bambam cackled, getting a better grip of the phone at the traffic light. “Had to beat the traffic. Plus, If I woke up to your mouth on my cock, I’d be pinching myself ‘till I bruise. I get enough nightmares as it is-”

 _“Asshole! You’d be lucky to-”_ Taehyung shouted into the line, making the younger have to pull the phone back from his ear mid sentence. _“-but seriously, Bam, where are you? I drove all the way out to the sand dunes to meet you when I could’ve stayed in LA!”_

 _“Relaaaax,_ Hollywood. I’m leavin’ Beverly Hills now. Pretty Boy has the jet waiting to get me back real fast.” Bambam smirked, glancing at the money bag in the passenger. “I’ll meet you tonight after I make the drop. I’ll even bring you a little present if you’re good, huh?”

He heard the older sigh on the other side of the line.

_“I’m off that shit right now, Bambam, I told you. And i'm the one who’s supposed to get you somethin’ anyway. The fuck are you doin’ all the way out in Beverly Hills? Did you say a jet? How the hell am I gonna top that?”_

Bambam prepared to apologize for his statement and answer the rapid fire questions but Taehyung spoke first.

_“Don’t worry about it, I’m good. Just make it back to the doorstep in one piece, alright birthday boy?”_

The younger rolled his eyes at the dramatics in the last statement. Bambam was in Beverly Hills, he wasn’t in any kind of danger. But he knew he meant _after._ Taehyung was a big worrier, but he loved to hide it behind dry sarcasm and jokes.

“I promise. See you later, big shot. Don’t forget my cake!”

He hung up the call, turning the music back up to the loudest volume as continued down Sunset Ave.

Bambam would never get over how different this place was.

Manhattan felt like getting caught in the fast forward setting on a VCR tape 24/7.

Days weren’t all that brief, but they damn sure tried to make it happen with how busy the average person was. There was no time to sit and take everything in unless you wanted to get cussed out and shoved into traffic.

Time moved slower in California.

People even _talked_ slower.

It was like watching Molasses drip. That was one of the main reasons Bambam was able to guess the _elusive_ Mark’s home state. The people here spoke like they had all the time in the world and the most important shit to say.

Maybe that’s because Bambam’s around rich mob members for 90% of his day that probably _do_ have some pretty important shit to say.

_That was besides the point._

One thing about LA in particular that boggled Bambam, was how on the same street you see a homeless guy, you could see a superstar, or a rich businessman. NYC definitely didn't have its shortage of homeless, but they had their ‘areas’.

Not in California.

It felt like some sort of warped reality full of palm trees and sun and...fuck, he didn’t know, billboards? It was plain weird.

He loved it at night, though.

By the time Bambam gets downtown, the sun will already be setting and the streets will come alive. LA nights were wild, eccentric, unexpected but typical in the way that it was, if that even made sense.

Like, you could see a hooker in rollerskates and a cowboy hat singing Blondie songs and you’d shrug it off. That kind of way.

Some twenty minutes and a soft, orange sky later he pulled into a spacious lot he was to report to.

The luxurious white private jet he’d wanted to go on since he first got here sat waxed and ready for take off.

Bambam checked his watch with a smirk. Right on schedule.

Happy 20th Birthday to him.

 

-

 

“Welcome to the Kingdom.”

 

Bambam sipped the complimentary champagne they served to him as he stared out of the window.

He could see the crystal blue pool from the top of the hotel, and if he squinted hard enough he could probably see Taehyung on a floaty smoking a joint in it.

The extravagance of it all was mind boggling. Never did he think his life would end up like this. Never ever. It was completely surreal, but his penchant for luxury made him adjust pretty quickly to the rewards life decided to give.

The way Bambam saw it, him and Taehyung were _lucky._

Sure, he may have to do a few unconventional practices to maintain this quality of life, but who lived like this without having to push the envelope a bit?

To him, it was worth it compared to how they were ‘living’ before. Without a fucking doubt.

The jet touched down on a runway not far from the hotel and a car waiting there to take him right to the front doors. As soon as he stepped off the plane, the fresh air and scent of the ocean cleansed his sinuses of the city. He could understand why Mark chose this place.

La Jolla was an absolute drag. _Gorgeous,_ but a fucking drag.

But it was just enough off the radar, especially with this private beach set up he has. Depending on where you go it’s away from tourists and even families unlike the ones in the LA.

It’s word-of-mouth reputation was enough to draw in the exact guests Mark wanted, greatly contrasting the usual demographic of La Jolla beach.

People tended to stray away from settling in the area unless they were rich, white, old and had a whole lot of money to blow on beach houses. Not unless they had a good reason.

Mark knew that and jumped on it.

Nobody bothered the billionaires out here, so this section of San Diego was an untapped gem with all the shit Mark could get done.

And everyone damn well knew the possibilities were endless when it came to Mark Tuan.

 

_“Good Evening, Welcome to Dynasty Hotel.”_

 

The staff bowed to him at entrance as usual and he waved back, uncomfortable with the formalities even after a year.

Bambam wasn’t kidding when he said this place was a Kingdom. That’s exactly what Mark called it and it looked nothing less, especially with renovations done all the time.

He gripped the LV bag in his hands, scanning the area with a pout. Then he spotted one of the staff he was good friends with by with the cart for his bags.

“Shownu, babe! How are you?” Bambam called out to the the dark haired man. He smiled when the man came up to him with just as much enthusiasm.

“I’m takin’ it day by day. What's going on? You need something, birthday boy?” The man grinned, dimples out and proud as he leaned against the golden cart.

Bambam playfully smoothed down the sides of his hair. “So, you guys  _know_ it’s a national holiday today.”

Shownu rolled his eyes and began setting Bambam’s bags up on the cart. “Of course, _Princess._ We were all notified, you know. We’re aware you like to let loose, so the lounge is set up.”

Bambam casted aside his original intentions for a moment, raising his brows at the information.

“Oh, really? The lounge...is it all prepared?”

A knowing smirk crossed the bell boy's face. “The dancers are ready when you are - as usual.”

The younger let out a childish _‘yesssss’_ that made the man shake his head in response. Bambam had an inexplicable love for strippers, even back home. But the ones at _The Gold Lounge_ here at the hotel were just top notch.

“I’m assuming you’re here for Boss, right?”

Bambam let out a theatrical sigh, “Pretty Boy promised to greet me at the door but he’s M.I.A.” he dusted off his leather jacket. “I got all dolled up and ready to make an appearance, too. Mind tellin’ me where he is, Hot Stuff?”

Shownu gave him a _look_ that told Bambam everything.

“Jinyoung. Red Floor in his suite.”

At Dynasty, there were different 'types' of floors for many different affairs. Your average civilian looking for a good time would never know about the hardcore levels of the hotel. It didn't concern them unless they were looking for something in particular.

It wasn't anything you could call the front desk about, that's for sure.

“Ugh, that damn attention whore,” Bambam rolled his eyes, making his way to the elevators with a wave.

“Thanks, Shownu! I’ll send you a private dancer tonight, on me!”

“Wait! Bambam don’t-”

The older staff member called out to him but the elevators were already closing.

 

-

 

One interesting thing about Dynasty was that nothing was off limits once you passed a certain floor.

You learned to expect any and everything.

_“Harder, Yien…”_

_“Louder, baby.”_

_“No- just f-fuck me already!”_

Bambam could hear the commotion all the way the hall.

He wondered why they never bothered to soundproof the Red Floor’s rooms. But from what he was hearing, people eavesdropping was the least of their concerns.

Well, today’s their lucky day, isn't it?

“Hey, guys!”

Bambam walked right into the room, ignoring the low grunts and moans of the half naked couple.

“I’m making my drop-”

Before his sentence could even finish, he heard a gun click and aim right at him. It was very uninviting and quite rude to their guest, in Bambam’s humblest opinion.

“A bit dramatic, Jinyoung? That’s _no way_ to treat the birthday boy.”

Bambam didn't flinch. He only smirked when Mark kissed the other man’s lips, seizing control of his gun and sliding it in his back pocket. Dealing with these guys over the past year, you learned not to panic at the sight of a gun so much.

Mark ran a hand through Jinyoung’s thick dark hair, only glancing over his bare shoulder at the younger.

“How many times you gonna bust in here before you get your head blown off, Bam?”

“I dunno,” The youngest shrugged, ignoring Jinyoung’s death glare as he dropped the money bag onto the table at the other side of the room. “Not as many times as you get _your_ head blown. Right, Jinyoung?”

_“Mark, please.”_

Jinyoung crossed his arms with a perturbed expression on his pretty face. Bambam smirked at how easy the older man complied and walked over to the table to handle business.

Park Jinyoung wasn't like anything Bambam expected the kingpin to be in love with.

The man was prim and proper, neat and calculated, knew about everything and everyone. He had a charming smile fit for a class president. And though he may have looked uptight - a _very_ healthy sex drive. One that people thought Mark activated within him when it was the other way around.

Park Jinyoung was the kind of guy your parents compared you with to be assholes, making you hold a jealous grudge for an ‘upstanding’ person who you’d think never hurt a fly.

Bambam thought the people Jinyoung went to school with never would’ve dreamed of what their classmate had become. Shit, the man probably fucked Mark on top of half a million in cash as a good morning call.

Or, perhaps they _had_ expected it.

The couple’s thriving existence taught Bambam a lot in a twisted way. You could never _really_ know someone.

But regardless of his opinion, the fact still remains:

Mark Tuan was whipped as hell for Park Jinyoung and had been for a long time.

“Mark? No, wasn’t it _Yien?_ Go back to that, you know I don’t care. If you wanna get fucked on my birthday, it’s fine. In fact, I encourage safe sex. Get all the dick you want. 20 thrusts per every year I-”

“Bambam, sit down and count this out before he _does_ shoot you. That wasn’t the only gun in here.” Mark ordered, the younger shrugged and took his seat as he pulled out the stacks from the day.

He had about a half an hour to get this done and get down to Taetae. Speaking of whom.

“Either of you know where my gorgeous redheaded devil is tonight?” Bambam asked. He had to count each stack twice to make sure the amount was correct.

“Rooftop pool or the lounge bothering Jimin. You know V doesn't do shit else when he’s here.” Jinyoung responded, pulling on his shirt.

Taehyung had taken to calling himself 'V' while inside the Kingdom. He didn't want his real name spread around in the midst of whatever else he assumed went down here. Tae didn't exactly _know,_ but it didn't take Magnum P.I. to figure out this wasn't The Hilton.

“He’s out on the shore. Surfing, probably. I think he got bored waiting for you to come back from...Beverly Hills, was it?” Mark sat down at the table, laying each stack out from the bag for the younger.

Jinyoung narrowed his eyes, ignoring that first statement for the last. Always about business, that guy.

“And what the hell were you doing all the way out there, Bambam?”

“Making birthday money, _Mother.”_ He held up the fat stack from the day with a blinding grin. “And a hell of a lot of it. Those women go harder than the addicts.”

“They _are_ addicts, genius.” Jinyoung shot back as he sat down at the table. He began recounting each of Bambam’s stacks while Mark was handling a phone call on the other side of the room. All while still shirtless, by the way.

“-It’s all ready? Send a driver down in about…” he looked back over to the pair. “An hour or so.”

Mark bit his lip in that way he did when he was keeping a smile, making Jinyoung raise his brows and ask.

“What you cheesin’ about over there, babe?”

“Nothing, really…” Mark walked back over to the table, wrapping his toned arms around Jinyoung’s shoulders. “Just something for our Bambam.” The oldest smirked when the younger immediately perked up.

“I got a surprise for your birthday. There's gonna be a car waiting down for you and V later. Your bags will be in it.”

Jinyoung hummed, reaching across the table and playfully yanking a lock of Bambam’s black hair.

“How was the jet ride, _birthday bitch?”_

The younger sighed, laying back in his chair to look between the couple.

“Ya’ll both know I used to fuckin’ hate flying. But on a private jet with champagne...the sickness kind of takes a back seat for a second.”

The two older men laughed, and in about an hour the stacks were counted and done. Now for the moment of truth.

The profit cuts.

Jinyoung got up from the table, Mark sitting in his place and letting his eyes linger on the other before he spoke. Mark’s tone took on a sweeter inflection when dealing with the youngest.

The other man rolled his eyes every time, but Bambam thought it was hilarious. Mark did it even worse with Jinyoung - _the apple of his eye,_ but he didn't even notice.

“Today was your day, gorgeous. I let you out of usual territory to deal wherever your little heart desired.” He picked up one stack, pointing it at the younger with a knowing smirk. _“You_ chose the white women in Beverly fuckin’ Hills.”

Bambam giggled, feeling Jinyoung’s eyes on him before he responded. “Tell me it wasn't smart, _daddio.”_

Jinyoung was about to cuss him out one good time, but thankfully, Mark spoke before him.

“It was a good call. You always make good money. Just like I said you would, right?” Mark said, leaning closer to the younger over the table, his sharp eyes never leaving Bambam's own.

When Bambam first got to California, the intimate elements of his and Mark’s relationship hadn't increased like he thought they would. As time went by, they subsided in turn for actually _learning_ and mastering his ‘craft’, so to speak.

Basically, they never fucked.

But he was a real tease when he started talking business. Mark discovered early on this was the best way to get through to Bambam. Especially when he was 19 and humping everyone he found attractive and willing - they were shutting down a lot of gay clubs and it got harder and harder to find partners. Yet, New York’s circuits had no shortage of patrons if you looked in the right places (or in Bambam’s case, the wrong).

But due to recent events, the polarizing effects AIDS awareness and Bambam’s own fears: The serial hookups trickled into almost-obscurity.

As in, he _almost_ took Taehyung’s disgusting offers once or twice.

“So, how did I really do, boss man?” Bambam asked, jiggling his legs under the table as he went over every transaction of the day in his mind.

Mark exhaled, expression neutral when leaning back into his chair. He was in business mode now.

“You bought an entire ounce straight off of Youngjae, with your earnings from last week's profits since you were going to work freely today. I think that taught you more about the value of money, huh?”

“It’s _valuable_ alright…” Bambam muttered, earning a half chuckle from the older. Secretly, he had no problem with spending the cash in bulk on his product because he knew he was damn good at his job. It was nothing to flip a few prices - it was the game. You just gotta know how to play it.

“When you wanna go off on your own, yeah it is, babe.” Mark shrugged. “It’s even _more_ expensive when you want a bigger cut, so you gotta sell your ass off. That's how the game goes, you know that.”

Bambam didn’t say anything. He just watched Mark separate his profit and what he’ll need to use to buy more for the next ounce. Good quality ounces are always around about a thousand a pop. So, a standard restock took a thousand out of whatever he made. It was as annoying as it sounds.

 _Today_ was different, though.

He’d made about two grand flipping his regular prices, with the addition of ladies who bought in bulk once they knew how good the product was compared the baby powder bullshit they bought before.

Which was damn _amazing_ to watch. He didn’t even have to make another stop.

Mark finally buttoned up his shirt, pushing the stack to Bambam.

“There you go, birthday boy.”

_“Shit…”_

Both men watched as Bambam took in the full grand he ended up profiting that day. A smirk grew on his face as he thumbed the thick width of dollars. He felt that same thrill of exhilaration down his spine every time he got his cut, but this time, even more. He reaped the most reward for half the time. Today was a good fucking day.

He wanted it every day.

“You did well.” Mark had said, but when he got up, squeezing Bambam’s shoulder, he knew there was more. There was _always_ more. Drug dealing never came with a contract, but with a mob syndicate like this? There's always some kind of fucking condition in the fine print.

“I did well, _but…”_

He looked between them both. Jinyoung spoke up.

“But this was just a birthday privilege. You go back getting supplied from Black Lotus after today. And we already told you that, so don't start any fucking shit.”

_Of course._

“Course I won’t, mother. What do you take me for? A child?”

Bambam got up, stuffing his money in the bag. He tried his best to keep the irritation off his face, but he probably looked like a kicked puppy instead.

Mark walked over to the younger, tipping his chin up to meet his downcast eyes. “We ‘take you’ for a twenty-year-old _man_ who did a great job and knows the value of this business.”

_Smooth as ever._

“I’m not gonna do anything,” Bambam muttered, averting his gaze from the piercing ones of the olders. “So stop tryin’ to sweet talk me already. I’m bein’ good today.”

“I know you are, gorgeous.” Mark grazed the side of the younger's face with his thumb. Jinyoung watched from his peripheral when Mark dragged the finger over his plump bottom lip. “That’s why I’m gonna take you down to V now, and then you’ll be one step closer to your gift.”

“This damn gift…” Bambam started, “You sure this isn't the threesome he asked for?” The younger quipped, earning a scoff from Jinyoung across the room.

“Over your _dead_ _fucking bodies.”_

“Oh yeah? There's a kink for that somewhere in the books, I’m sure.” Bambam responded, keeping his eyes on the older. Mark rolled his eyes, guiding him to the door.

 _“Oookay,_ let’s go now, birthday boy.”

_“Bye, Jinyoung.”_

Bambam called back to the other in a fake-sweet voice, sure to add a cute wave for good measure.

All he heard back was: _“Choke on a dick, Bambam.”_

Mark and Bambam laughed on the way out.

 

The night had already commenced once the two men got down to the lobby.

The hotel had a discreet cult following for it’s nighttime entertainment. There were the feel-good rooftop parties at the pool where Taehyung frequents, The Gold Lounge for the people looking for a good time (with the same sex especially). Then there was the floor _below_ that where things got a lot more intense - the casino.

Tonight, Bambam wouldn't be hitting either. He had someone to see.

“It’s pretty dark. You think he’s still out there?” Mark asked, tucking his black shirt into his pants and sorting himself out. His hair still looked sex-ravaged, but of course, it ended up working for him.

“Since when has that stopped him?” Bambam’s eyes scanned the lobby before Mark stopped him before they reached the door.

“Don't forget the car waiting, okay?”

The youngest smirked. “Never, boss man. I love gifts.” and with that, he blew a kiss as made his way to the exit.

 

-

 

The first thing you think about California when you aren't from there is Hollywood.

The glitz and glam, the movie stars, the sun shining out of their asses 24/7 and conventionally attractive girls and boys in their own figurative heaven of... _conventional attractiveness._

You think of all the songs, the idea that anyone with a dream - the thirst for endless wealth and fame - has just _got_ to come to California to become anything. Shit, even in the early days when people were dropping everything to come here and dig in the dirt for gold, it was the same idea.

Bambam had to admit he wasn't exempt from it, not at all. Neither was Taehyung from what he saw.

But the first thing they thought about?

The beaches.

As soon as they touched down, they dropped their bags and went scouring the city for the closest beach they could find. When they did they were hollering, hopping around in the water in sopping wet clothes with ear to ear smiles. They felt like they ‘made it’ and they stepped foot there not even 20 minutes prior. The only thing they ‘made’ was the ending of the sun disappearing into the water. This prompted the pair’s promise to get out there early enough next time and see the entire thing.

As usual, they looked fucking ridiculous.

The good thing about him and Taehyung was the fact they were never ones to care about looking ridiculous. Not when they were together, anyway.

Bambam slipped off his boots and socks and placed them to the side, letting the cool, wet sand squish between his toes as he walked the shore. The night tinted the ocean black and the current threatened to pull him in every time the water hit his ankles. And when he bent down to roll his jeans up, he felt a solid weight knock him off his feet into the soft sand with a loud screech that just _couldn’t_ come from anyone the fuck else.

_“Motherfucker! I got sand in my ass waiting for you!”_

Taehyung pinned him down to the sand, soaking wet in his clothes. His skin was a deeper bronze than usual from all the sun he caught out at the beach, and his red hair was held back by one of his many bandanas (he got into those for some reason) so it wouldn’t get in face while he was surfing. Today there was a white one.

“Watch it, Hollywood! Don’t go blaming me for what goes up your ass...I’m not having all that shit on my conscience.” Bambam shot back, earning a howl from the redhead and feeling himself get shoved once again.

“Twenty and still a douche, huh?”

Taehyung settled beside the younger on the sand, tangling their long legs together for no particular reason as he leaned against him. Bambam giggled at the affection, running his hands through Taehyung’s wet strands. “Was that supposed to go away with age? You missed that train a while ago, babe.”

“Still. A. Douche.” Taehyung poked his cheeks with every word. “With the squishiest cheeks! Those’ll probably _never_ go away, hm?”

Bambam shoved him away. “Fuck off, dickhead. Everybody can’t look like a renaissance marble sculpture and shit.”

“That’s the nicest shit you ever said to me, you know.” Taehyung cooed, leaning back on his elbows. “Still don’t beat the time you said you’d fuck me sideways if you were high enough. I was touched.”

The younger groaned, burying his face in his hands. Taehyung was going to some movie premiere a few months ago and came home to change....Bambam found the extra stock of vodka he hid from himself at the same time. Tae looked good and some things _happened_ to slip out of his mouth. Sue him.

 _“Sideways,_ Tae? I was drunk. Will you let that shit go?”

“Fuck me and we’ll see about that.” Taehyung shrugged, a beaming grin covering his entire face that made Bambam kind of want to punch him.

“I thought you’d be in the lounge watching Jimin instead of out here _trying_ to surf a low tide.” Bambam spotted Taehyung’s surfboard lying on the sand a little ways away. He must've dropped it when he saw him.

Taehyung giggled at the thought of the beautiful, pleasant dancer. “Right? But J-Hope was around him then.” The redhead paused to shudder. “Dude scares the shit out of me. You think they fuck?”

J-Hope, real name Jung Hoseok, is a member of the Black Lotus Mob’s inner circle a.k.a. Mark’s top guys. He’s one of the ‘handlers’ so to speak. If someone gets out of line and Mark sends Hoseok- it’s a done deal. So, he can’t blame Taehyung for being frightened - even if he _wasn't_ aware of his position in the mob.

And then there was Park Jimin. Now, he was many things, a top guy included - but he was _also_ head of the Kim Taehyung Fanclub. The tiny dancer adored Taehyung to _bits._ He damn near threatened Bambam about making sure the boy doesn’t get caught in any Black Lotus business. Of course, all Bambam could do was nod in agreement.

Taehyung was too _good_ to live a life like they did, and they knew that. It would ruin him.

Worries aside, Bambam shrugged. “I dunno...more than that, probably. Didn't _you_ have a crush on Jimin at some point? He actually got ‘em. Don’t be a sore loser, Taetae!”

The redhead made a garbled noise, tucking his face into Bambam’s side. He remembered those days the year prior when Taehyung would follow the dancer around like a puppy. He thought it would become something, but they ended up just being cool.

 _“Shut up,_ he’s just a good friend to me,” Taehyung poked Bambam in the shoulder. “And to _you!_ He had a birthday thing planned tonight and you never showed up. I mean, I offered to take your place, but he wouldn't allow it.”

“I had shit to take care of. He knows I’ll come claim it later. What _you_ need to worry about is my present.” Bambam mushed the older's face with his hand. “A half-rate blowjob ain't cuttin’ it, my friend.”

Taehyung stuck his tongue out. “Bammie, nothin’ about me is _half-rate.”_

The sounds from the hotel were practically inaudible from their distance with the sounds of waves crashing on the rocks. The sky was completely black, save for the stars sparkling in the sky above them. They looked like diamonds on a display.

“You feel any different yet?” He heard Taehyung ask from beside him. With the tone he used, Bambam knew it was a question he expected some kind of answer to.

“Uh…” Bambam took a deep breath, thinking of an adequate one to sate the older. “Not inside or nothin’ like that. But I feel like i’m gettin' taken more seriously. Which is what I wanted, you know?”

He heard a questioning sound from beside him and pressure on his arm. “I _always_ take you seriously! _Who doesn’t take you seriously, hm?_ Is it Mark?” Taehyung questioned, making the younger bust out laughing.

“Tae, you’re...how do I say this,” Bambam started, squinting his eyes at the stars. He was trying to make out those constellations everybody talks about but he can never see shit.

“It’s different with everybody else. I had to prove myself all damn year. You’re _s’posed_ to see the best in me as a best friend. It’s in the title.”

“I mean, _I guess.”_ Taehyung joked, the younger musing his hair around as they fell into another silence. Bambam noticed he hadn’t seen his best friend in a week.

“How do you feel, Hollywood? Like seriously. Found any good work out here?” Bambam asked. He didn’t get a lot of time with the older having to deal 24/7. He felt out of touch with the kid sometimes.

“Got a few small parts here and there. My agent is working on some advertising deals. I came out here for acting but I’m getting more modeling. It’s funny. But I like it out here in San Diego, close to you and this beach. _And_ the Sea Lions.”

Bambam noticed how he avoided answering the real question about his emotional state but he moved on. He trusted Taehyung would tell him eventually.

“Thought you didn’t like the ‘sand dunes’ and I was a douchebag who didn’t put out.”

“Where did I lie?” The redhead chuckled, lightly hitting the boy on the shoulder. “Leave me be, demon...did you bring any food?”

Taehyung sat up in his spot, only just then spotting the LV bag sitting besides Bambam. A slight frown took over his face before he schooled his expression neutral. Taehyung was never just _neutral._

Bambam braced himself.

He hated when work got brought up. It made everything tense for some reason. Even out here on a beautiful beach it was possible to feel tense. In sunny-ass ‘perfect’ California.

Imagine _that._

“That’s what you were doin’ out in Beverly Hills all day?”

Bambam shrugged, “Ain’t got no other reason to be out there, Tae.” He pushed the hair out of his face when the wind picked up.

Taehyung sighed, averting his eyes to the shore.

“How much you make this time?”

“About two grand, give or take.”

“Two _grand?”_ The redhead grabbed the bag and opened it, looking over at Bambam with his jaw to the sand.

“I gotta buy more, but that’s what we got. Pretty boy said I did good. Even his prissy-ass boyfriend agreed, you believe that?”

The redhead tensed at his usage of ‘we’, but Bambam tried his best to ignore it. Taehyung carefully closed the bag up and lied back down on the sand. His mind was filled with thoughts and aggression's he would never actually vocalize unless he was high.

Those were the worst nights.

“When you gonna paint again, Bam?”

 _Paint._ Bambam snorted and he knew Taehyung frowned at the sound. Bambam hadn’t touched a brush in months being as busy as he was. He was in one of the most beautiful places in the world, yet had no inspiration besides how much money he could make every time he went out.

“When I find something worth painting.”

Not a _complete_ lie. But it was a better answer for him than _‘I don’t know’._

It wasn’t long before the sounds of the beach became white noise and Bambam remembered the car waiting for them at the hotel.

"C'mon, Tae. Mark’s got a car waiting for us.”

Taehyung didn’t protest. Rather letting the younger grab his hand and trudge through the sand together in silence. They started to approach the bright Dynasty neon sign burning in the night once again. Taehyung felt the air around them change, a sick swoop in his stomach at the sight. He couldn’t pin down any reason. He just let Bambam guide him to the car, watched him explain with stars in his eyes that Mark had their things here already and the gift was supposed to be _awesome._

Taehyung didn’t protest.

“Hey, Bam?”

The were sat inside the dark van, pulling away from the hotel entrance.

“Yeah?”

Taehyung looked into the starry sky, spotting the Little Dipper almost immediately.

 

“We missed the sunset.”

 

Bambam turned to him with that little smile on his lips. Taehyung never knew if that expression meant Bambam was satisfied for the moment until there was something better, or if it was genuine happiness.

 

Well, no one ever really knows that, he supposed.

 

“We always do, Tae.”

 

 

-

 

 

**Supreme Court 1988 | Washington D.C.**

**_One Year Later_ **

 

_“Please stand. Raise your right hand. Do you promise that the testimony you shall give in the case before this court shall be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?”_

 

_“I do.”_

 

_“Please state your first and last name.”_

 

Before taking this operation, Jackson Wang had gone over all of the possible dangers in his mind.

In his career he was careful. He made sure not one detail missed his analyzation. Not one event wasn’t pre-calculated in his mind, because Jackson Wang had a plan for _everything._ He prided himself on being one step ahead, always thinking on his feet.

On the B-Side was his personal life. _That_ sang a whole different tune.

When it came down to it...Jackson thought himself as weak.

Too sensitive with loose ends never properly severed, morally incompetent in a way he couldn’t be in uniform - the list goes on and on, really. There were no innocent or guilty parties there because he was free to love the wrong people and not worry about it. When he clocked out, he was no longer _Officer Wang._

He was just Jackson.

But as soon as things changed...when he stepped out of uniform and was _still_ on duty? Hell, it was the perfect disaster. Jackson didn’t have the faintest _idea_ how the lines would blur.

And the psychological aftermath was a bitch to deal with.

_“To our understanding, this all started in Manhattan. The year of 1986, correct?”_

“Correct.”

Damn right, it did.

On top of that, the war on drugs was on in New York City, and President Reagan made _sure_ it was known. Crack was a nightmare, turning what had potential to become the greatest city in the world into a war zone where one wrong move, one wrong step, could lead to the end of you.

People were poisoned and it wasn’t _just_ in The Big Apple. It made Jackson sick. There was no fucking doubt he knew -  _they_ knew - what they were doing. Fuck Reagan.

But where there was disaster, there was prosperity. That didn’t stop a _thing_ for the guys making dirty money. If there wasn’t crack, there was it’s more refined, expensive cousin we all know and love. One Jackson got to know _very_ well.

Among other things, of course.

_“How did you end up affiliated with the Black Lotus Mob?”_

“I was starting my duties as a new agent, fresh meat out of the academy. I was there since college. My mom always wanted me to go back home.”

_“Home? Are you not from California?”_

“Hong Kong. There was this exchange program through my university and I ended up staying here for...obligational reasons. Then California PD’s wanted help with the mob issues around the state at the moment - being multilingual I was a shoe-in, basically. But to answer your question, I wasn’t really... _aware_ when it first happened.”

_“What do you mean you weren’t aware?”_

“I had met the leader in unique circumstances, you can say.”

_“The leader at the time was Mark Tuan, correct?”_

“...Correct.”


	4. ACT II - FINAL

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jackson Wang was a dead, dead man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Went ahead and did the rest of Act II, enjoy the length and pls tell me what ur thinkin!

_“Wang, you’re still here? Day’s done, kid.”_

 

Jackson Wang, 23 years old, recent graduate and rookie cop nervously looked up from his desk at his superior.

“I-I’m aware of that, sir but-”

“Exams are over and you passed. If you’re aware, why the hell are you here?”

The head of San Diego Police Academy was a middle aged man, lived on coffee and donuts like your typical cop, prematurely bald, endlessly tired of bullshit - like most older men at the station.

Jackson would know.

He spent his time during basic training kissing the man’s ass to get by instead of ducking and dodging him like the other rookies. You _could_ say he was an overachiever in that right.

In Jackson’s eyes, that was just playing the field.

The world was connection based, if you couldn't talk you couldn't move. He didn't even need his superiors to _like_ him, but if they thought he was a tolerable enough guy, he’d get a good position out of training. He’d be one step closer to becoming the detective he always wanted to be.

Jackson clicked his pen repeatedly, feeling kind of stupid now as he looked around the empty station. His superior had an excuse because was working on some big case, but Jackson did not. He really was the last guy there.

“My composite score was lower than anticipated...so I wanted to go over what I had messed up on.”

The older man sighed. “Did your FTO instruct you to do this after your duties, Wang?”

It was a simple question.

“I um- he...he wouldn’t be _against it?”_

But he couldn't answer confidently knowing he was about to get his ass embarrassed. There was no way in _hell_ that Field Training Officer Kim - posterboy for never doing more than necessary - instructed him to do that.

“No, sir. He did not.” Jackson hung his head low, gathering up his papers with his cheeks probably burning with embarrassment. “I’ll just leave now.”

“Wang.”

“Yes, sir?”

“You don’t need to stress over the exams like a college grad. What’s important is how you do out on the streets. The bangers and robbers don’t care if you were two points below your average.” The man deadpanned, heading towards the front door.

“And according to your FTO, you’re already excelling at that. So, do us all a favor and leave the fucking building so the damn can rats can have some peace at least.”

And that was that.

The door had slammed and Jackson was officially alone. But then, his mind wandered to those supposed _rats._

Needless to say, Jackson wasted no time booking it to the exit.

 

-

 

_“The fucking rats?! Damn, J...you alright, man?”_

 

Jackson was on the way back to his place, coincidentally the one he shared with his Field Training Officer - Kim Namjoon.

Currently, Namjoon was _cackling_ in his ear on the car phone about what had just went down, making Jackson feel even more ridiculous.

“Shut the hell up, Joon. It wasn't _that_ damn funny.” Jackson mumbled, hearing Namjoon _wheezing_ on the other side of the line. Give it a fucking break.

_“You think it ain't ‘cus it just happened to your ass and you’re embarrassed. It’s okay, Rookie. We all went through it.”_

Jackson sighed. He should probably relax. It _was_ kind of funny. “He didn't have to take it to the rats, though. I ran out of there so fast I left the door unlocked.”

 _“Speakin’ of that,”_ He heard shuffling on the line, probably Namjoon sitting his lazy ass down on the worn leather couch he won't toss because he got it ‘for a discount’ with the coffee table at a swap meet.

_“Don’t come right home tonight.”_

Jackson threw his head back and cackled. “The hell are you talkin’ about? Finally gettin’ it in, old man?” He cackled when heard Namjoon mumble some choice words under his breath before he spoke again.

_“I’m worried about you, asshole. All you do is study, come home, crack open a beer - pass the fuck out. Sometimes I don’t even know where your ass is. Do you even got time to jerk off, Rookie?”_

Namjoon has been trying to get him to let loose since he graduated the academy a couple months ago. It isn't like he doesn't _want to_ , but he doesn't have the luxury of relaxation for a multitude of reasons, both of them knowing the fact. Pretending his problems were more trivial than they actually were was how they handled all things Jackson.

“So what you’re saying is, you want me to get my dick wet.”

Namjoon groaned down the line.

_“Seriously, J. I just want you to act your damn age for once. Bein’ a cop don’t mean your life stops...you just have less friends that ain’t cops.”_

It was true. Once Jackson got into the police academy, his old friends stopped trying to hang with him. It’s not like he ever could go out much, but it was still a thing. It just came with the title.

“You sure this isn’t some ploy to get me out while you stink up the house cooking that damn...what’s it called? Shrimp Gumbo?”

_“Don’t act like you don’t eat it right up every damn time, J. It’s classic back in LA when my mama does it.”_

Jackson sighed. LA meant _Louisiana_ for Namjoon.

That much was obvious to Jackson within the first couple minutes they’d met in college.

He had the heaviest accent back then, heart of gold but Jackson almost had to get an encyclopedia to understand the man. Overtime he got used to it, and the older’s accent became _‘californized’_ as Namjoon calls it. He got easier to understand verbally, but the man was still a wild card from the deep south.

He never let anyone forget it, either.

“I’m sure it is, Joon and bless her heart…but not the way _you_ make it.”

As soon as Jackson said that, he heard the leather couch squeak under his movement. Namjoon sat straight up out of defense.

_“I told you i’m tryin’ to get the recipe down-”_

Jackson had to cut him off before he started ranting or else he’d never get off the phone.

 _“Okay, Joon-Bug!_ I’m going now. I’ll make myself busy until later, alright? Don't miss me too much.”

Jackson hung up the call with a smile lingering on his face. Talking to Namjoon relieved most of the stress he felt from his daily routine.

It made him take things a little less seriously and gets him as close to his regular self as possible. The Jackson people _liked_ hanging around. The one who made friends with anyone, long boarded on the beach in his leisure, and could ‘ _talk the butter off a biscuit’_ as Namjoon liked to say.

A lot changed since those days.

Jackson turned the radio, groaning at _Pour Some Sugar On Me_ being played for the _millionth_ time that day as he drove through downtown San Diego.

Namjoon was right. He should definitely go do something.

Come to think of it, there were jeans and a flannel in his carry-on he always had for when he got off shifts. Jackson could just change into those, ditch the badge...go have a night out for once.

He had the longboard in the trunk and nothing to do. It sounded to him like he should hit the beach like old times.

So, that was the plan.

Jackson decided to drive down to La Jolla, which was a few minutes away from headquarters and the closest beach to him at the moment. He usually didn’t go for La Jolla, it was way too rich and stuffy for his liking, but it was dark now and he didn’t feel like driving any farther. The decision was unanimous.

Rich, overrated beach it is.

 

-

 

Where there were hard workers like Jackson and fantasy chasers like Bambam, there were people who already had it all.

 _‘All’_ meant different things to the people who possessed it.

To the lower class, All meant money, a roof over your head, good health. To those higher up - the one percent of America - they never knew anything less, so that was nothing to them. They had old money from centuries, never had to worry about a thing because would _always_ be there.

As for Mark Tuan, he fit neither of those categories.

Mark was filthy rich in the _rawest_ sense of the phrase. His money wasn’t old at all — never had been, never would be. It was constant, overflowing, ebbing over the point it was becoming a real pain in his ass trying to find out where to store it all.

Money like that… though powerful and influential in its abundance, didn’t come with _esteem_ or respect outside of the streets. And there was nothing enigmatic or mysterious about it. _Everyone_ knew where Mark’s money came from — he was no Jay Gatsby. But _like_ Gatsby, he yearned for something fairly simple.

No, not love. He seemed to find that just fine.

What Mark wanted was nothing new.

He wanted _power._

 

_“Yien?”_

 

Mark looked up from his desk at his lover. He was dressed in one of his designer shirts, only because it was silk and Mark had it on earlier that day. Jinyoung loved to claim he only wore his things because Mark had a discontinued Chanel cologne he liked and he only ever got to smell it on him. They both knew the truth.

The black haired beauty had the phone in his hand and a lit joint between his lips. The worry lines already formed on his youthful face. Mark frowned at the sight. Jinyoung never smoked, save for two scenarios. One: he wanted to fuck. Or two, the one that _didn’t_ end so happily for Mark:

His father.

“You have a call from...you know who.”

Mark rubbed his temples, reaching out for the phone.

“Thanks, _Jinyoungie.”_ The younger rolled his eyes at the nickname, giving him a supportive hand squeeze before he slipped out of the room.

Mark took a few moments to himself before he put the phone to his ear.

“Hello-”

_“You let that bitch answer your calls now, son?”_

What a _wonderful_ greeting.

Mark clenched his jaw. “Raymond, if you want to speak with me I’d advise you _not_ to insult Jinyoung. You still do business with Park Conglomerate, correct?”

Mark held up a paper weight on his desk, turning it in his palms and staring at his glass reflection on the surface. “That’s that ‘burning bridges’ thing you always told me not to do, isn’t it?”

He heard his father scoff at the other end of the line. Mark was two seconds from hanging up before he heard the next words.

_“We’ve got bigger issues. You fucked up, Mark.”_

The heir sighed, already annoyed. “What are you talking about now?”

His father always called with complaints. ‘Fucked up’ could mean anything at this point. Even _breathing_ was a damn fault when it came to his own son.

_“What am I talking about, let me see...Manhattan of last year. Ring any bells in that dense head of yours?”_

Mark stiffened. He heard papers rustling in the background.

_“You left dirty laundry. You need to let me know before you go off and take-”_

“Not necessary.” Mark cut him off with a hand in the air as if he was right in front of him, staring through him with his frigid gaze. “How’d you even find out I was there?” He sat up in his seat. “Your men are such… roaches. I’ll have to make _sure_ every pesky little tracker of yours is eliminated next time, huh.”

Raymond chuckled bitterly, _“Don't be foolish, I still know where you are at all times, son. Especially when you leave the state. Why? Because you still don’t know how to handle yourself. Shit like this happens and I have to clean up behind your fucking mess like a two year old. I’m pretty tired of it, Mark.”_

“Tired?” Mark chuckled, _“Boy…_ I sure didn’t wanna be the one to remind you of how you were barely around when I was two.” Mark jibed. He heard his father gearing up for another lecture before he cut him off once more.

“Guess it’s obvious enough. But blaming the _daddy issues_ is cliche. Don’t you think, Raymond?”

_“I don't have time for the drama, Mark. What the hell were you doing in New York? You don’t have territory there.”_

The younger man’s lip curled into a snarl.

“You don’t know _what_ the fuck I have, Raymond. You’re sitting on your ass all the way in Seoul, leaving me _scraps.”_ Mark stood up from the desk, feeling his composure snap like the frail twig it was.

“How the _fuck_ can’t I run my shit in LA but you’re all the way in Korea? Do you know how that makes me look?!”

Jinyoung opened the door at the sound of Mark’s yelling, closing the door and carefully approaching the desk. The older didn’t stop him. He barely noticed him through his anger.

Mark frowned when his father replied in his same controlled tone. Could he even _act_ like his son had any affect on him? That pissed Mark off more than anything.

_“You aren’t supposed to be running shit there, Mark. You were supposed to come out of college with your degree and straight to Taiwan to run business there properly.”_

_Properly._ Here he goes again with _that_ shit. Who the hell did he think they were, huh? All he ever preached these days was about how _legitimacy is everything._ Mark scoffed every time. Sending a drug lord’s kid, _a_ _mobster’s kid_ to an ivy league and expecting a CEO isn’t legitimate. It’s idiotic.

“In a boring ass suit, in a boring ass office - Fuck that! That isn’t how you came up and it _damn_ sure isn’t how I’m gonna be.” Mark banged his fist on the desk, the action making Jinyoung sigh. “This is a fucking _empire,_ not a corporate business, Father. Wake the _hell up,_ already!”

Mark practically heard the smoke coming out of his father’s ears. His composure had to be long gone now. _Finally._

_“You’ve lost your damn mind! I let you have that god-awful playground you call a hotel out there in San Diego, doing who knows what, and you talk to me like this?!”_

Mark threw his head back to laugh, lowering himself back down onto the chair.

“You didn’t ‘let me’ have shit - this is all mine! _I_ built this. These are my people, my product, _my_ money.” He grabbed Jinyoung by the hand, tugging him towards the open space between his legs. _This is mine too,_ he thought, sliding his hand up the other’s bare thigh, gripping hard onto the soft flesh of his ass. The moan that tumbled out of Jinyoung’s pretty mouth told him as much.

_All mine. Every fucking bit of it._

Mark felt his confidence _building, building, building,_ up and up until he couldn't even recall why he ever avoided his father's calls. Jinyoung just watched in awe. He thought he was beautiful this way.

Mark’s bravado. A constructed masterpiece that took diligence and patience, it made you hold your breath and not even notice.

It was beautiful; much like a house of cards or a row of dominos is beautiful. It wouldn't take much to knock it back down again.

“You wanna know what I got, dad? There’s pools, a casino, a fucking strip club -  a gay club just to piss you the fuck off. _It’s all mine.”_

Jinyoung lowered himself onto Mark’s lap, thighs straddling him on either side as he smirked at the older’s continuous power rant. Bravado for _days._

 _“Nevermind_ all the fucking connections I have throughout this city and others. L.A. is small talk to me now, pops. Even some of your old guys come to _me_ now. How’s that feel, huh?”

His father wasted no time with his next statement.

“And you can lose it all the same.”

_No._

The two men sucked in a sharp breath.

The house had collapsed.

Mark gripped the phone so tight he swore it would break on him. Jinyoung held onto his shoulders, trying to keep him at bay. It didn't work.

 _“Really?_ And what the fuck is that supposed to mean, old man?”

Mark knew a threat when he heard one.

_“What do you think, Yien? You wanna be against me so bad, then you got it. We’re not on the same side anymore, so i’ll leave you with the disaster you created. Let’s see how my son can handle things when it all comes crumbling down in ruins.”_

Jinyoung’s brows rose at the implications of his words, clutching onto Mark’s shirt for dear life. He felt his lover’s hand grip his waist so hard he knew there was a bruise due.

“We were never on the same side.” Mark swallowed hard, his tone reduced to a growl that resembled thunder in the distance. “Threaten me again, and I’ll make _sure_ you understand. Strike first, strike hard, right? You taught me that.”

And just like that, it was over.

The man chucked the phone against the wall and Jinyoung cringed at the impact.

Radio silence.

Mark bit his lip so hard he tasted bitterness wash over his tongue. The heir’s body was so rigid, so stiff. He was white-hot with rage, his legs couldn't stop jittering - he couldn't _stand_ it. He’d admit it. He was anxious.

The weight of Raymond’s threats barred down on his shoulders and he couldn't afford for his knees to buckle now.

Mark could very well be at war with his own father.

_It’s been a long time coming._

“What are you going to do?” Jinyoung whispered. He tried to catch onto the older’s eyes, tried to reach him, but it was fruitless. His words were garbled and distorted to Mark, as if he was underwater. It barely registered.

Jinyoung cradled the motionless man’s face in his hands, gently prying his bottom lip from his teeth with his thumb before he tore the flesh even more. A bad habit amongst many.

“How can we respond to this? Tell me what to do, i’ll do it…”

One ear and out of the other. Mark pressed his lips against his lovers in a feral hunger, tongue and teeth clicking, a grip so hard on Jinyoung’s thighs when he lifted him onto the desk’s cold, cluttered surface.

“Can you at least—”

“Leave it alone, Youngie.”

Usually, Jinyoung knew to ignore the trembling of the other’s hands when they traveled down his body, but not tonight. Mark’s strategy was see through, and quite lackluster considering the man couldn’t even keep his eyes locked onto Jinyoung’s - a task that was usually never a feat for the elder.

Jinyoung pushed him back down into the chair, hovering over his lap as he placed a soft kiss to his forehead. “I’m not doing this with you right now.”

The words made the other pause in his tracks.

“Okay.”

Mark rose, gently urging the other off his lap as he approached the door. There was a blank look in his eyes, one Jinyoung knew all too well after one of Raymond’s calls. Mark liked to disconnect from the problem and pretend he wasn’t affected. It was his same coping mechanism since he’d met him.

Raymond was serious about what he said. They couldn’t lie in wait. That wasn't an option anymore.

“You can’t ignore this.”

“Fuck him,” The brunette didn’t look back when he threw the door open. “I’m goin’ out. You comin’ or not?”

Jinyoung stared at the dismembered phone on the floor.

“I think i’ll pass.”

 

-

 

Jackson took a little _detour_ before the beach.

There was this food joint downtown Jackson always frequented called Monroe’s Place. It served breakfast all day and had the best damn hash browns he’d ever tasted. He entered through the doors, the greasy aroma and the sounds of Bowie hitting him as the bells alerted the employees on duty that he’d arrived.

“Working hard, Tamara?”

“Always,” His favorite waitress turned around, sending her signature warm smile to Jackson as she balanced plates in her hands. “Grab a seat right by the window honey, I’ll be right with you in a minute.”

He slid into his booth, pulling out the menu to look through it even though they both knew he’d order the same thing every time. Jackson was a man of routine, after all.

“Hey hun, you want the coffee with extra cream tonight or are we mindin’ our health for once?”

Jackson cackled when the waitress stood over him with her hands on her hips ready for whatever he had to say. “I’m not messing with you tonight, Tamara. Get me a loaded omelet with hash browns, three-stack pancakes and OJ, please.”

She looked up from her notepad, playfully narrowing his eyes at him. “You’re by yourself though, Honey.”

Jackson’s mouth formed an ‘O’ and the waitress chuckled. “Shit, right, right. Take the last thing off, sorry. Habit.”

“It’s no problem. You ain’t been around in a while. Gettin’ busy on me again?”

The brunette sighed, rubbing his hands through his hair. “You know how it is. Always on the clock.”

“Yeah, yeah, my workin’ boy.” She gave a small, supportive smile before her face fell back into her playful seriousness. “You better be braiding that girl’s hair like I said. Every week, I wanna see the how it looks too.”

Jackson whistled, looking up to the dark-skinned waitress. He always made sure to come in as often as he could to ease the pressure of busy shifts on her, even if she’s been handling it longer than he’ll probably ever know.

“You sure about that? She comes back with them undone everyday, no matter what.”

“She’s tender-headed, boy. Just like you.” Right after that, Tamara lightly slapped Jackson’s head with her notepad, making the man let out an _‘Ah!’_ and grab the area call out in non-existent pain. The waitress chuckled. She started her departure from the table as she called over her shoulder. “I’m serious, boy!”

Soon after he got his food, Jackson relaxed into the booth, letting the music wash over him as he cut into his food.

He’s been coming to Monroe’s since freshman year of college, stuffing hash browns in his mouth while being careful not to get the grease onto his coursework. He loved the portraits of the warm-looking family on the walls, the eclectic selection of music - it was downtown in the most obvious place it could, yet it felt like his own little spot. It grounded him.

Jackson glanced out of the window at the traffic outside. He squinted when he saw a nice car pass by with the top down. That wasn’t an irregular sight, but the handsome guy inside that made Jackson slightly sit up in his seat _was._

He guessed it was noticeable, because when the guy briefly looked at him, the previously blank expression on his face morphed into a smirk before the car was parked in it’s place. Jackson’s eyes widened the next moment when he saw the guy get out of the car. He shut the door and swung the keys on his index as he approached the front doors.

_Shit._

Jackson suddenly found the green peppers in his omelette very intriguing when the bell sounded above the door within the next few seconds.

He heard the stranger’s deep voice announcing he was coming for a pickup. Then, thinking the man was occupied, Jackson made the grave _mistake_ of peeking up from his plate.

He was staring _directly_ at him.

Perfect smile, perfect hair — the _whole_ nine.

Guy looked like a damn movie star for goodness sakes, and here he was looking Jackson up and down like _he_ was the head-turner.

Of course, Jackson hastily averted his eyes and prayed his cheeks weren’t redder than Hell. He didn’t have to worry for much longer, luckily, because the ring of the door’s bell sounded and signaled his exit.

 _Geez._ Jackson let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, sinking down into his booth.

Again, he has to work on not being so obvious, because Tamara was giggling from behind the counter as she wiped it down.

“He’s a cutie, huh? Comes in every once in awhile just to pick up and never sits down. Seem’s busy.”

Jackson bristled, wiping his hands off. “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about Tamara.” He ignored her second giggle fit as he stood up from the booth. “But I _do_ know I should pay for this and head out.”

“No need, babydoll.” The waitress turned, starting her ascent to the back of the kitchen. Jackson was opening his mouth to certainly insist, but she spoke up before him.

_“Cutie already paid the bill!”_

 

-

 

The ground was smooth under Jackson’s board. He felt the wind whipping his hair in all directions as he skated the pavement.

Jackson felt like he was on autopilot.

This was heaven for him, having been cursed with a mind that only thought about family, laws, impressing superiors twice his age - he needed this. The chance to disconnect.

The pavement had ended after a while and he had to stop and walk on the sand. He didn’t know what part of the beach he was on now, but he stopped seeing people a few miles ago. Jackson knew he should turn around, but he didn’t want to let go of how _relaxed_ he was in this moment.

There was no damn telling when he’d feel like this again.

So, he kept walking.

His longboard was clutched under his arm as he tuned out the rest of the world. He made his way towards the water, letting out a deep breath as he took a look around the big, beautiful boulders and endless miles of sand. There were two obvious facts here.

One. Jackson was absolutely lost.

Two. He didn't give a fuck.

Lost. The man chuckled at the thought, running his hands through his hair as he stared at the crashing waves. He could be lost like this _forever_ and be fine. Less shit for him a fuck up if he’s gone. Namjoon would have more room at the apartment, his superiors wouldn't have suffer through his kiss-assery every day...

“The only thing i’m missing is a beer.”

The wave of guilt he had for his thoughts barely had time to register, just like he didn't register the golf cart coming his direction for the past few minutes.

 

_“You know this is a private section of the beach, right?”_

 

Jackson yelped at the sudden voice, sharply turning to the owner with full intention of telling him to shove his ‘private section’ up his ass.

 _Until_ he saw said owner’s face.

It was dark out, but he could see well enough from the soft cast of light of the moon gave to know the guy was handsome. Just _how_ handsome, he wasn't sure yet. He could only deduce it from his smooth, baritone voice.

 _“Yo!_ Earth to trespasser!”

Jackson blinked.

“...I wasn't aware you could own a damn _beach._ Clearly, that’s my bad.”

And then a bright flashlight was in his face, Jackson groaning at the _nerve_ of this guy as it traced the length of his body - stopping deadly still on his face.

It shut off.

Jackson’s vision adjusted just in time to see the man on the golf cart’s hostile expression soften, and the _familiar_ smirk that grew there in it’s place. He pulled up closer to Jackson, the other only just now noticing the joint in his other hand.

“It _is_ your bad,” the stranger started, blowing out the potent smoke near Jackson’s face. He was used to it, being a police officer and all. “You smoke, don’t you?”

The fog cleared from Jackson’s eyes, his brows rose at the joint being outstretched to _him._ He hadn't smoked in a long time.

“What makes you think that?” Jackson asked, watching the other’s eyes narrow into incredulous slits.

“You’re longboarding at 12am in a flannel and ripped jeans. You smoke.” The stranger ran a hand through his dark hair, Jackson’s breath catching when the reflection of light from from the ocean shone across his face.

It was the _same_ guy from the diner.

What were the fucking odds?

Jackson frowned, taking a moment to look down at his outfit. Then they both looked at each other at once.

“What’s your name?”

“Why do you need to know?”

The two men stared each other down. Jackson crossed his arms, turning away from him.

“Remember, you're trespassing on _my_ property. This is the least of what I could do right now.”

He wasn't wrong. And he _had_ paid for his meal.

“It’s Jackson...” He supplied rather reluctantly, coming off like a mumble. Of course the guy would turn out to be a total douchebag.

_Damn, rich people._

The stranger hummed in intrigue, taking another hit of his joint.

“That wasn’t so hard, was it? I meant to ask you at Monroe’s. You remember me, don’t you?”

Oh, Jackson definitely remembered him.

The smug tone of his voice made him peek over his shoulder at the man. He had an almost _overly_ relaxed posture in the golf cart. Most of the buttons on his shirt were open but cinched after the third row of abs (not that he was counting), slim legs wide open, eyes heavy and lidded as he assessed the other.

_It would be easier to ignore him if he didn't look like sex on legs._

“Nice to meet you, Jackson. Call me Mark,” He took his bottom lip into his mouth, sitting up straight and leaning towards the other. “Or...the guy about to show you the best time of your life tonight. Either’s fine.”

Jackson paused.

 _Um. Did he really just say that?_ _Was that a real thing that happened?_ _There was absolutely no way._

A beat of silence passed between the two before Jackson busted out laughing.

He held his stomach and threw his head back, eyes screwed shut in his tickled amusement. When he looked back at the other, he just burst into hysterics again.

The stranger narrowed his eyes at the sight that probably went on for longer than he liked. “You’re _really_ laughin’ at me too. Shot to my heart, babe.”

Jackson sighed, wiping a stray tear from his eye. The stranger didn't look offended, probably too high to put in the effort. Even with all of this, he felt himself growing relaxed around the man. Jackson walked closer the golf cart.

“Humor me, _Mark._ Mark, right?” Jackson started, ignoring the strangers amused chuckle when he continued.

“What _do_ trust fund babies do on their little private beaches for fun? I’m just a regular guy,” Jackson crossed his arms, staring at the pretentious messily styled hair falling into his eyes. “Paying my bill, _stalking me_ on the beach… what do you really want, hm?”

The man licked his lips, giving a shrug. “Isn't it obvious? You look like you needed a good time, you’re sexy as hell… so I did what anyone would do. I made a move.”

He was bold.

Jackson was stunned. Mark complimented him as if it was the most obvious fact in the world, and he wasn't used to men that forward. Jackson felt his cheeks burn, making him avert his eyes to the sand.

Mark didn't let that happen for long. He dipped his head right down to connect their gazes.

“I _did_ want to take you for a drink or two at this place I know, relax you a bit. But you’re over here laughin’ at me like I’m Eddie Murphy. I’m quite offended, Kid.”

“Kid,” Jackson scoffed, leaning his forearm against the roof. He fet exposed by Mark’s wandering eyes over his chest, but he continued. “How old are you to be calling me that?”

Mark rubbed his chin, his gold jewelry glinting in the night.

“Get on and I might tell you over a drink, Giggles.”

 

-

 

_“Seriously though, what girl wet their panties to that line and had you thinking it was a good one?”_

 

_“Shit talker, aren’t you?”_

 

_“I’m just being honest!”_

 

Mark turned to Jackson after that, a small laugh bubbling from his lips the familiarity of that statement.

He’d heard _that_ one before.

“What?” Jackson asked, already looking away at the scenery of the beach as they zipped past in the golf cart.

“Nothing, nothing. Just reminded me of someone.”

Jackson shrugged it off, the two not saying much more as they cruised the beach.

Namjoon would be proud of him. Talking to cute guys, going out with them. He definitely felt more free than he had in a long time. And it was all thanks to some rich kid with a _private fucking beach._

_Who’d have thought?_

Mark nudged him. “You’re smiling a lot over there, you got more jokes or somethin’?”

Jackson opened his mouth to respond, but the sight his eyes caught onto made them die off.

This man had _more_ than just a private beach, that's for sure.

“C’mon, Jackson. It’s rude to stare.”

He grabbed the older by the hand, leading him to the front doors of the palace- hotel... _whatever_ the fuck it was. It’s something you should only see in movies.

The staff had opened the doors _for_ them, and Mark waltzed inside like the place was his home. People acknowledged him upon entrance and he gave a nod back, but all of his attention was on Jackson.

Mark just _loved_ the first reactions to his kingdom.

It was his favorite thing to watch, other than Saturday Night Live and Jinyoung’s ass when he walked.

But right — reactions.

Mark loved reactions.

Especially Jackson’s, the way his eyes light up in almost awe _and_ fear of how grand it all was. And it was _grand._ Mark made sure of it, with the fountain and mock renaissance statues in the middle of the lobby, filled with beautiful Koi swimming in the pink, neon illuminated water.

For Jackson himself, amazement aside, there was this overwhelming _‘I don't belong here’_ feeling clawing at his insides, like he was diving into the deep end of something he had no idea about.

He honestly felt like he stumbled into a rich Narnia or some shit.

_“Little Yi!”_

Jackson’s brows furrowed, looking around for where the voice came from in the midst of all of the people. Mark had a huge grin on at something, so Jackson followed his eyes.

“Yoongi, what’s up?”

Mark threw his arms out in a wide gesture, making the small blonde guy walking right up to him snarl. He had a clipboard in hand and sharp eyes that just read he didn't put up with bullshit.

“Don’t ‘what’s up’ me, asshole. You seriously called a meeting tonight?”

Mark looked to Jackson briefly, before turning back to the man. He put an arm around him, slightly taking them to the side where Jackson couldn't hear them.

“Negative. What meeting?”

“Fuck, Jinyoung,” The guy, Yoongi, rubbed his temples, “It ain’t anything official, I guess. But he got JB and J-Hope together and all.”

Mark sighed. Of course Jinyoung started a meeting. He never left shit alone.

Yoongi opened his mouth to say something else until he finally noticed Jackson. Or, was just finally in the mood to acknowledge him.

“And who the fuck is this?”

Jackson was too caught up in the scenery to introduce himself. Mark turned back to Yoongi with a smug look.

“Just some company. We’re going to the lounge.” He grabbed Jackson’s hand again, gaining his attention like a puppy. “Jimin’s in there right? I want an official introduction.”

“Jimin, yeah.”

It was a quick, flashing moment when Yoongi’s jaw clenched - it was gone before anyone could notice.

Anyone but Mark, of course. It’s pretty hard to hide anything from your best friend.

With a knowing expression, Mark shook his head, dusting off Yoongi’s leather jacket.

“Don’t.” The blonde huffed out, sending a warning look to Mark. “I ain't in the mood. Entertain your guest.”

Before the heir could say his parting words, a staff member - Shownu, Mark thinks his name was - walked up to the trio.

“Boss,” He slightly bowed to Mark, making Jackson’s brows furrow, then he turned to Yoongi.

“Mr. Min-”

“Shownu, cut the Mr. Min shit, I’m 25 fuckin’ years old.”

“Sorry, sir. We have that situation on floor six, that nympho couple is back again…”

Jackson’s eyes widened and Mark seemed to know what the young staff member had meant, busting out in a loud, childish cackle.

Yoongi groaned for the millionth time in five minutes.

“God damn it. Can’t rest for _two seconds,”_ The blonde rubbed his temples, shooing the young man away. “I’ll catch you later, Yi.” Yoongi nudged the brunette in the shoulder as he passed. “I got a fuckin’ _hotel_ to run!”

After Yoongi disappeared within the crowd, Jackson turned to Mark, brows furrowed in curiously.

“Lounge? What lounge? Is that Yoongi guy the manager or something?”

The older raised his brows at the onslaught of questions, walking ahead of the other to the golden elevators.

“ _The Gold Lounge_ is where I’m taking you, it’s the best damn spot in town. And yes, Min manages the hotel.” Mark pressed a blue button and the elevator started to travel downwards.

Jackson sniffed around the small space as soon as the door closed. It even _smelled_ like wealth in there.

He stuffed his hands in his pockets, staring at Mark’s sharp profile. He was too handsome for his own good. And if he could afford five minutes in this place — _too_ damn rich.

“Okay… but why does everyone consult _you?_ Don't tell me you own this place or something? If you do, i’m leavin’ right the fuck now and never looking back.”

Mark kept his eyes ahead, but a grin grew on his face.

“From the ground up, baby. You’re not going anywhere tonight.”

 

-

 

If Jackson thought the _lobby_ was nice, this _Gold Lounge_ was another fucking ball game.

 

The air was heavier, the people were richer, which meant they were willing to spend more to get nothing more than a taste of their desires. The aroma of perfume, sweat, alcohol and a lemony-sharp scent of disinfectant wafted over his nose, making him extra aware he was definitely in a club.

There was even a black and gold color scheme about it that topped the whole place off. Jackson thought it was classy… in a sleazy, overzealous sort of way he couldn’t afford to form an opinion on.

“You keep it hotter than the devil’s ass in here, that’s for sure.” Jackson muttered, fanning himself with his flannel as he watched the man swagger through the building.

As he walked deeper and deeper into the lounge, his eyes couldn’t help but catch onto the mini chandeliers that twinkled and sparkled like diamonds above each booth. It was almost like a five star restaurant — you know, if you ignored the golden stripper poles.

The material of his worn flannel and jeans felt more noticeable on his body when he saw the kind of people sitting down at the booths, standing around, at the bar. Clearly, you had to clean up a little before walking in here. Jackson didn’t know why he thought it would be any different with the way the hotel looked - the way _Mark_ looked.

Speaking of whom, Jackson saw how people would nod, lifting their drinks to Mark as he passed by, very similar to how people would greet him in the lobby. It was an act of regard, a sign of respect to the man.

Jackson sighed, taking another look at the patrons.

He didn’t fit this picture. At all.

“I don’t think i’m in _dress code,_ boss...”

“What was that?” The brunette turned to him, both brows raised. Mark couldn’t hear him over the music. Jackson moved closer, leaning in when he repeated himself.

Mark just laughed.

“I created the dress code. If I say you’re _good,”_ the soft light from the chandeliers made the shadows of his face stand out even more. His finger trailed up Jackson’s chest, making him hold his breath when he hooked a finger behind one of the buttons on his flannel, releasing it with a pop. “Then you’re _good.”_

Mark turned away then, leaving Jackson with an _exposed_ chest and a stupefied expression over his face. People took notice of him, but didn’t make any movements to approach him because they saw the previous exchange.

Jackson was off limits the moment he showed up beside the elder.

Mark led them up some steps, onto a balcony level behind a velvet rope that overlooked the entire establishment with a king’s view of the stage. It was quite a sight, seeing all of the chandeliers twinkle from above and dancers on the poles below them.

“Ah, Rosé!”

Mark suddenly called out, confusion passing over Jackson before he spotted a scantily-clad girl with long, fiery orange locks make her way into the area. She was dressed in the same color scheme as the employee from the lobby (Black and Gold) but in the form of gold-lined tight shorts and a matching crop top.

“Master, how are you this evening? Anything I can get for you?”

 _Master?_ Jackson’s eye’s widened into saucers, neck almost cracking when he turned to see the shit-eating grin on Mark’s face - as if he knew the effect this was having on his guest.

_Asshole._

“Drinks are fine, beautiful. Just the girl I wanted to see, though not where I thought. You’re not on stage tonight?”

She then popped open a huge bottle of champagne, giggling when Jackson jumped back in his seat. “Mm, no sir.” She pouted, tipping some of the drink into glasses. “Jimin gave me hosting duty because of my ankle injury. You mad at me?”

Rosé had a sweet voice, a softer tone someone younger than her would have. Jackson suspected Mark found it endearing with the way he looked at her. _Or,_ he just found her sexy. Jackson didn't know - he probably looked at everyone that way.

“No, never. But you should've let me know though, right?” Mark frowned dramatically, having the girl blushing when she stuttered out an apology.

“It’s alright.” Mark sipped his champagne, glancing over at Jackson with a mischievous expression. “You know what, Rosé...how about you sit next to Jackson for a bit. Just to get you off your feet tonight. Good with you?”

 _What?_ Jackson’s lips parted in shock, sending a sharp glare to Mark when the girl came and sat right next to him, her sweet perfume permeating the air.

 _Well, okay._ He needed the whole bottle if the night was going to continue this way.

Jackson grabbed his glass, taking a small sip of the champagne at first, then almost groaning in pleasure as the drink washed over his tastebuds. He took a few more sips, not even noticing the amused look on the girl’s face beside him.

“It’s good, right?” Rosé spoke, taking her own glass and holding it up. “It’s like liquid gold. One of the main reasons the lounge is so popular.”

Jackson hummed, swirling the drink around in the glass. “I wouldn't be surprised if this _was_ liquid gold the way this place is looking...” He trailed off with a few more remarks after that one, barely noticing how much he was rambling.

Rosé just laughed, pushing her hair behind her ear. “You’re funny, Jackson.” She crossed her long legs, adjusting her thigh-high boots. “I like that.”

Jackson stared, mouth opening and closing on nothing before he caught himself again. Are _all_ of these people here this damn forward?

“No comedians in this club?”

Jackson gulped down his drink, peeking over at Mark who was getting another joint lit up by another pretty girl he didn't notice walk in. Jesus, he had no shortage of them.

 

_“You don’t mind me borrowing Rosé tonight. Right, beautiful?”_

 

_“Of course not, Master. She’s all yours.”_

 

Jackson overheard and almost choked, the girl next to him just sipping her drink and continuing the conversation.

 _“Hell_ _no._ The guys here try so hard to impress him. No one’s _just_ funny anymore.” Rosé said with a roll of her eyes, eyeing the girl in the middle of the room who was refilling their glasses.

“Yeah?” Jackson said, looking between both of the girls. The one pouring drinks turned to leave, flipping her long brown hair as she walked by, receiving a quick slap on the ass from Rosé that made Jackson raise his brows to his scalp.

 _“Rosé, stop!”_ The girl shouted through gritted teeth, but her burning cheeks gave her away.

The girl just gave a wave, bidding her a goodbye with a teasing tone. _“Bye, Jennie.”_

Jackson just blinked.

Rosé eyes trailed after the girl who left before she turned to him again with a smirk. “But the drinks aren't the _best_ thing about this place.”

Jackson could beg to differ after that immaculate champagne, but he humored her.

“What is it, then?”

The pointed a red polished finger towards the front without another word. Jackson turned, seeing the center stage lights go completely dark.

 _“Pay attention, Jackson.”_ He heard Mark say, making him anticipate what could possibly be awaiting him on that stage.

The lights flickered on again on the stage, washing the stage with a deep red glow.

There was one person on the stage, but as opposed to the girls currently at each pole - from the fit, broad yet curvy physique, it was definitely a guy. He was at the top of some steps at the back of the stage. His back was to the restless audience that were already into it by the sounds they were making.

Then there was the _fog._

It covered the whole stage, making it harder to see the man in the middle of the floor. Jackson sat up straight, feeling a bead of sweat trail down the side of his face. The song had started and everyone nodded their heads to the familiar drum pattern.

The hooting was almost animalistic when the figure on stage started to sway from left to right.

_“I knew a girl named Nikki I guess you could say she was a sex fiend...”_

He turned around.

Jackson’s breath caught in his throat as the dancer ascended the stairs clad in a silver bedazzled blazer, a choker snug around his neck with the tightest black leather pants he’d ever seen on _anyone._ He stopped at the last step, holding his arms out with a sultry, hot gaze at the crowd that made Jackson want to blow his whole salary on the boy. He didn’t even remove one article of clothing yet.

While Jackson was mulling over how pathetic he was, a crew of backup dancers slinked up to the boy, and within the next moment he was lifted into the air, head thrown back and body arched as they slowly spun him.

_“The castle started spinning or maybe it was my brain, I can't tell you what she did to me but my body will never be the same.”_

It was a stunning sight, when he picked his head up, staring directly at the crowd with heavily lidded eyes, adorned with shadow, smokey and black. He was absolutely stunning - soft cheeks, sharp jawline.

When he was back onto the ground, the dancers scurried away leaving him solo in the middle of the stage once more. He ran a hand through his _bright pink_ hair, chewing his luscious bottom lip in a bashful manner.

Then, off came the blazer.

The dollars trickled onto the stage floor, but he kept _moving and moving,_ spinning his body, sliding his small hand down his glistening chest like there was no one there but him. His shirt was open, but he undid it even more, exposing his chiseled stomach.

_“Awe, her lovin’ will kick your behind, she'll show you no mercy_

_But she'll sure 'nough, sure 'nough show you how to grind…”_

The lights strobed on and off, and in flashes you could see he was on the floor _grinding,_ writhing in the dollars as they poured in, looking like he was caught in his own euphoric, provocative haven on the stage.

He ripped his shirt off and tossed it into the crowd. There was a confident smirk on his face when women and men alike were reaching for the abandoned garment. Jackson squinted when he turned his bare back to the crowd, catching a black inked design - like a flower or something - right in the middle of his shoulder blades.

Dollar bills were tucked into the waistband of his impossibly tight pants that left nothing to the imagination. He tugged at his own hair, lying on his back and thrusting his hips into the air. The curves of his body were soft, yet bold just like their owner.

He beckoned over a male dancer from the side stage and tugged him down right on top of him by the single black tie he was wearing. Jackson was sure everyone’s breath was in their throats at their close proximity, but just when you thought - the dancer shoved him back

“Jesus Christ…”

“Park Jimin.” Rosé replied. Jackson fought with all of his might to acknowledge what she said - he _really_ did; but he couldn't _not_ keep his eyes glued to the spectacle on the stage.

“I- What’d you say…”

Rosé giggled at him, Mark staring right at Jackson from his seat as if he was waiting for something.

“His name is Park Jimin.”

Soon, _much too soon,_ the performance was closing. The floor of the stage was covered in paper, and the angel in the middle of the floor was back onto his feet.

 _Park Jimin_ was given a mic. He took a moment to look out into the crowd, eyes traveling _over_ the people in front of him to the VIP area Mark, Jackson and Rosé were in. And just his luck, his gaze seemed to zero in _right_ on Jackson.

_“Thank you everyone. Hope you enjoyed it as much as I did. Goodnight.”_

Jimin’s delicate voice traveled out onto the floor like a soothing balm on Jackson’s scorched nerves. The erotic, sexual persona seeming to mute when he showed an adorable smile to the crowd before the lights went out again.

Jackson was in a daze. He didn't even notice that Mark had moved from his chair and came to sit on the other side of him. He felt a hand on the nape of his neck, the contact snapping him out of it.

“How was that?” Mark asked, his voice deep and filled with something sinister that made a vicious chill run down his spine.

Jackson didn't even have time to respond. Not to the touch, or the question, when he heard the beaded curtains on the side of the area move.

And there he was.

“Hey, Mark.” Jimin smiled at them, running a hand through his damp hair. “Hey, Rosé.”

Mark sat back in his chair, rubbing his chin as he looked the man up and down. “Damn, Jimin. You really sold it tonight. Shook my new friend up real good.”

Jimin spotted Jackson and his eyes lit up with the same thing Mark’s had.

 _“New_ _friend,”_ the dancer repeated with intrigue. He was in a mesh tank top now, toned arms crossed as he walked over to the trio. He was much shorter than Jackson had thought he was, but his presence was still overwhelming.

Jimin pouted. “Rosé, introduce me. Mark’s being a little damn devil.”

The girl giggled, leaning her head on Jackson’s shoulder. “His name’s Jackson. He’s sexy, right?”

Jackson’s mouth did that stupid fish thing again while Mark watched Jimin and Rosé exchange a knowing look with each other.

“ _Jackson...”_ Jimin turned to Mark, an eyebrow quirked. “How’d you meet em’?”

The oldest sighed, “Trespassing. But I wasn't gonna just leave him out there, you know?”

Jimin laughed, throwing his body forward. He grabbed a joint from the table and a bedazzled lighter. “What a good samaritan you are. _Definitely_ no ulterior motives there.”

“Jackson here wouldn't come easy, you know.” Mark licked his lips, tipping his head to the side at the mentioned man’s quiet nature at the moment.

“Jimin.”

“Yeah?” The dancer sipped from a cold water bottle Rosé gave him, never taking his eyes of Jackson.

“I think you, the best performer in this place, should show Jackson how we do things at Dynasty’s Gold Lounge.”

And just like that, the atmosphere became heavy again. Jackson’s heart skipped in his chest.

The dancer uncrossed his arms, appraising Jackson from head to toe. He turned to the girl beside him.

“Rosé, Jennie’s waiting for you backstage,” The dancer twisted his water bottle closed and tossed it to the side. “Stay off that ankle, alright.”

“Say no more!” She shot up, squeezing Jackson’s shoulder in some kind of support before nudging Jimin. Jackson swore he heard her muttering something that sounded a lot like _“Don’t break him.”_

Oh, man.

“Thank you for tonight, Master. Have fun, Jackson.”

She sent Mark a cute salute and skipped out of the area, leaving Jackson alone with the two men eyeing him like prey.

Namjoon would _definitely_ be proud of him now.

Jimin strutted right up to him, tipping Jackson’s chin up and turning his face from side to side. “God, you really _are_ sexy.”

“T-Thank’s…”

 _“He speaks.”_ Mark sarcastically remarked.

Jimin ignored the oldest, choosing to run his hand in Jackson’s hair, gently tugging until the man was looking straight up at him.

Fuck, Jackson could die right now and be content.

“Those huge, brown eyes… I loved the way you were looking at me.” Jimin spoke, a fire pricking the pit of Jackson’s stomach at his words. The dancer reached down, popping open _another row of_ buttons on Jackson’s shirt with his finger, just like Mark did before. Jimin placed the joint in his mouth with his other hand, narrowing his eyes at the frozen brunette.

“What’s the hold up? Finish the rest.”

Jackson wasted no time on that. He got the flannel open, cheeks burning hotter at Jimin’s unmoving gaze and approving hums.

The moment escalated quickly. Jimin pushed him back against the couch by his shoulders, Jackson clenching his jaw when he felt the dancers strong legs straddle his thighs. He placed the lighter in Jackson's hands.

“Gimme a light?”

And Jackson did, trying _hard_ not to focus on the two plump lips he was so close to. Jimin puffed out smoke into the air, turning his gaze to a half-lidded Mark watching from the sidelines.

“Mark, babe, he has the best body...so damn big and _tight.”_

And just when Jackson thought he’d been through enough - Jimin _slapped_ Jackson’s thighs.

Jackson groaned so long and low from his throat his own body stilled at the sound. Mark hummed in intrigue, finally turning his body towards him. The mixture of both the heir and Jimin’s scents intoxicated him, making his head feel lighter than it was before.

“Damn, I found what he likes. He’s _naughty.”_ Jimin dragged his hands down his chest, biting his lip when the muscles jumped under his touch. “Did you like my performance, Jackson?”

The brunette eagerly nodded, gulping hard when Jimin turned to Mark with raised brows.

“You gonna just sit there, Mark?” Jimin asked, trailing his hand down Jackson’s stiff arms. They were sticking at his sides since he didn't know what to do with them.

“I’m spectating.”

“Then start directing, _boss.”_ Jimin rolled his hips down onto Jackson's, making him suck in a sharp breath. “Tell me what you want. He’s _your_ guest.”

Mark took the joint from Jimin’s hand, a pensive look on his face as he was deciding Jackson’s fate. To Jackson himself? Hell, it was out of his hands. He already had the best seat in the house.

“Bambam didn’t claim his birthday present because of business. Give it to Jackson.”

Jimin stilled his hips. “No, he’ll fuck me up. That was _your_ fault.”

“Who the hell is Bambam and why do I already hate him?” Jackson huffed, sounding winded for no fucking reason. Jimin just giggled in Jackson’s ear.

“Hopefully, you’ll stay out of trouble and never find out.”

“Then we’ll do somethin’ else, if he’s up for it.” Mark shrugged, hands back on Jackson’s nape, running his hands through the hairs there. The other couldn't contain how he writhed at the contact.

This was some next level shit and it was nowhere near finished.

He didn’t even _notice_ the guy who just walked into the area until he was stood behind Jimin, glaring at Jackson like he killed his family. Mark chuckled when the brunette sat back in shock.

He took his hand away from his nape leaning back on the couch with both brows raised.

The new guy was nice enough on the eyes, high cheekbones and light brown hair, but he sported a very _hard_ expression when he looked at Jackson. It was very _‘I’ll bust your kneecaps in’_ more than anything.

Jackson definitely saw his fair share of scary criminals daily, but the dude gave his gut the worst feeling the longer he glared at him.

“Babe,” Thankfully, the dancer intertwined their hands to divert his attention. “Come sit down or something, you’re lookin’ mean.”

“I don’t need to sit, Jimin.”

The stranger ignored the dancers request, and the fact he was _still_ straddling Jackson’s waist when he turned to Mark.

He crossed his arms, shooting off a quick statement about Mark needing to _handle_ something in totally different language - to protect their business, Jackson guessed.

They didn’t know Jackson knew Mandarin and picked up most of what they were saying.

He picked things up, but the statements were short and unrelated. It made no real sense - almost like code. And somehow in the midst of the exchange, Mark narrowed his eyes at Jackson, almost seeming to pick up the fact he knew by the way he tried so hard to mind his business and keep his body still under the pilant dancers. He was perceptive.

Mark sighed, switching back to english. “Don’t let him get into your head, J-Hope. We’ll talk later.” He waved his hand in Jackson and Jimin’s direction. “You see I have a guest, don’t you? One _your_ boy is enjoying very much.”

The two men had a lengthy stare down before the newcomer spoke again.

“Just don’t fuck around on this, Mark.” J-Hope, the newly identified stranger grumbled. He seemed to be impatient over a matter that didn’t get resolved when shook his head and stalked out of the area.

The exchange seemed a bit more serious than how Mark was responding. This _J-Hope_ guy was speaking to him more like a friend—a rather _pissed off_ friend, than an employee. But there was still an unmistakeable power Mark still exerted over him when the subject was promptly dropped.

These dynamics threw Jackson for a loop, but he let it go.

It wasn’t his business, anyway.

Mark looked at the dancer with an expression that would’ve feigned indifference had it not been for the clenching of his jaw. “What, Jimin?” He snapped, moving back close to Jackson’s side. “Not gonna chase after him this time?”

Jackson looked between them both, the smaller letting out a small chuckle. “Asshole. I’ve got my hands full right now, don’t I?”

“We all do.” Mark commented, running his long fingers through the brunette’s hair. “Touch him, Jackson. Hands on his ass and squeeze real hard, just the way he likes it.”

Jimin gasped, glaring at the other man across Jackson’s chest, “How the hell do you kn— _oh, oh fuck.”_ He felt Jackson’s large hands slide down his waist, stopping for one moment before he gripped Jimin’s ass. His head fell to his shoulder, along with a small whimper that made Jackson undoubtedly hard in his jeans.

He should’ve pushed Jimin off and _left_ once his boyfriend walked in, but he wasn’t in his right mind at that point. Jackson figured he would indulge himself. He’d never step foot in that place again, anyway.

The latter smirked at the sight of them both, eyes red and glassy from the weed. “Your boyfriend has a _big_ fuckin’ mouth, Minnie. And I have a _great_ memory.”

“Fuck you _and_ J-Hope,” Jimin lifted his head, damp pink strands falling in front of his eyes as he stared right into Jackson's. “Fuck — Do it again, Jackson.”

“No.” Mark ordered, making the both of them glare at him this time. He paid it no mind.

“Sit on the other side of him.”

Jackson panted, looking between both guys now pressed against his body. Mark trailed his fingers through the rips in his jeans on one thigh, Jimin’s small hand being way more overzealous when he rubbed the inside of the other one. Jackson’s chest rose up and down, turning his head away from the sight, but Mark’s large hand directed his face right back to it.

“Don’t do that.”

Mark’s hand slowly moved up and up Jackson’s thigh, stopping right above his crotch when he started to whisper in his ear.

“I should make Jimin ride these _thighs_ he loves so damn much.” Jackson’s heart stilled at the words, Mark chuckling as he rubbed his hand back down the length of his thigh. “Maybe even get em’ to sink down to the floor for you after that, right in front of me. Maybe I should call his boyfriend back in here so we _both_ could watch.”

Jimin groaned from the other side of him, “You fucking _dick—”_

“And what would _you_ do?” Jackson shot back through gritted teeth, feeling Jimin’s soft lips trail the skin on his neck. He didn't know when he got so bold, but he couldn't take shit back now.

“Oh? What could you _possibly_ want from me... I’m just some rich guy, right?”

Jackson let out a strangled laugh, realizing Mark flipped his own line back on him from earlier.

“Your lines are getting better.”

Mark was about to reply, and Jimin’s tongue started to turn to teeth when they all heard the heavy steps of another newcomer.

For a damn VIP section, people sure came in and out of the place a lot.

“How was that meeting, huh? Had everyone up my ass all night.” Mark called out, scooting away from the couple. Jackson’s eyes fluttered to the new person in the room.

The man scowled. “Fuck you for skipping it, I know Min told you all about it.”

Well, _some_ employee this was.

Mark just grinned, a sheen of sweat down his chest as he beckoned the newcomer over with a finger. They just crossed their arms, finally turning their attention to the scene.

The man’s eyes fell on Jackson with a groan.

“Oh, _God._ Mark, who’s this?”

Mark held his arms out. “Just come here, baby. I missed you.”

Jackson’s eyes widened when the man easily mounted Mark, glaring at him for a while before he stuffed his damn tongue down his throat with no other words uttered. If Jackson thought _he_ could grip an ass before, it was nothing compared to Mark and this man now. The older’s shirt was now done all the way open, exposing his upper body for Jackson’s gaze. He openly ogled at a tattoo wrapped around his sides, like an intricate version of the brief glance he got of Jimin’s.

Jackson felt the latter nibbling his earlobe, turning his attention away from Mark. Jimin leaned back on the couch with a sigh, lightly tapping Jackson’s thigh.

“Party’s over, babe.”

“What? What do you mean?”

The other man, one who was no less pretty than everyone he’s seen tonight, turned to them. Dark eyes surveying the both of them like they were a nuisance.

“Jimin, sweetie… why don't you take your friend and make yourselves scarce? J-Hope’s in his suite and he isn’t happy.” Jinyoung suggested in a sickeningly sweet tone that was really nothing but.

The dancer rolled his eyes, turning to Jackson with an expression that couldn't get more annoyed if he tried.

“Resident boner-killer Jinyoung just arrived, _that’s_ what.”

Jinyoung flipped him off and Mark chuckled, pulling the offending hand down and intertwining it with his. Mark always seemed to be doing that — keeping the man at bay.

“Speak for yourself, Jimin.”

The two of them stood in the middle of the room while Jackson awkwardly fumbled with the buttons on his flannel. Mark’s eyes connected with his over his lover’s shoulder. “It was fun, Giggles. If you ever find yourself trespassing again, don’t hesitate.”

He didn’t waste a beat before he said his last words, in Mandarin: “ _The door is always open.”_

Jackson didn’t even know how to respond to that.

“Okay, let's leave before we see some shit we don't wanna see.” Jimin gave a lazy wave to the two as they slinked out of the VIP area, through the lounge and back out into the elevators.

Jackson didn't register a thing until they were in the lobby. The cool air and professional atmosphere made him jolt from his trance. He was scared to know what time it was now.

“I-I should get home…”

Jimin looked up at him, “Duh, that's what I was _saying,_ but you were so zoned out. It’s alright. Mark brought you out here from the beach, right?”

Jackson looked around at the tame nature of the lobby compared to before. “Yeah, I gotta get back to my car. And my board.”

The dancer’s eyes lit up, gripping Jackson’s arm like an excited child. “You should _totally_ get a room! You can leave at daylight, get some rest or something.”

Jackson shook his head, “Can't. Got somewhere to be.”

Like his job.

“No fun.” Jimin pouted, taking it upon himself to fix the misdone buttons on Jackson’s flannel in their fervor to leave. “Is this because of Jinyoung? Ignore him. He hates everyone but Mark. Fucking tight ass.”

“Yeah, what's the deal with him? You guys got beef?”

Jimin bit back an amused grin.

“Mm, nothing _crucial_ … Mark and I used to fuck before he made it official with Jinyoung,” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Like a year and a half ago? I don’t give a fuck, I already moved on.”

“Oh, right.” Jackson shot the dancer a glare, imitating his soft voice but taking the pitch up 20 notches. _“Nothing crucial, though...”_

Jimin slapped his arm and they giggled together. “Rosé was wrong, you’re just a dick.”

After a few minutes of strolling the lobby, Jackson felt his head throbbing. All the champagne and wildness of the night were starting to slow him down. That same feeling of not belonging clawed at him, just as it had when he first entered the lobby.

This wasn't reality. Better yet, not _his_ reality.

It was time to go home.

“Seriously, Jimin. This ain’t really my scene...I’m not a rich guy with ‘assets’ and shit. I probably can't even afford to stand here right now.”

Jackson stared at the fountain in the middle of the lobby, feeling a tug of longing, better yet - _desire,_ just pounding away in his chest the longer he looked around.

He wanted to know what it was like to feel this free all the time. He could never live like this.

The dancer put a hand on Jackson's shoulder, “We kinda figured that much from the outfit.”

Jackson’s face dropped and Jimin let out a loud laugh, tugging his whole body forward as he gripped his stomach.

“But for real, trust me when I say that doesn't matter to Mark. He barely invites people back personally like how he did you.” Jimin ran a hand through his bright hair, briefly glancing at Jackson before his tiny hands covered his face.

“And I _kinda_ wouldn't mind seeing you in my audience again.”

Not waiting for Jackson’s fumbling response, Jimin squeezed his hand on his shoulder with a small smile and turned away. His persona on stage and what Jackson saw now were so drastically different, it felt kind of sacred to witness.

“I’ll get someone to take you back to your car.”

They left it at that.

Jimin had a confident stride; sensual, powerful, magnetic. Jackson couldn’t help but notice it when the dancer made it to the front desk, ringing the golden bell multiple times.

 

_“Shownu! Where are you, honey?!”_

 

-

 

_“You look like death and a half. I said go out, not get fucked up off your ass.”_

 

_“Yeah, well.”_

 

Namjoon didn’t hesitate on piling on the remarks when Jackson snuck through the door at 3am hours previous. He limped through the kitchen, drunk stomach turning at _sure enough_ \- the potent smell of shrimp gumbo simmering on the stove all night when he was gone. _Namjoon just couldn’t miss an opportunity, could he?_

The mentioned was sat on the couch watching his nightly shows when he heard the scratches of the keys through the lock on the door. Namjoon’s neck craned up from the TV screen, blanket over his head as he watched Jackson stumble through the house louder than a Bull in a china shop. He didn’t say a thing to the man until he _shattered a dish_ trying to dig through the cabinets for a glass when there were perfectly (relatively) clean ones by the sink.

Now, here they were, sitting in the break room at the station trying to wake themselves up with enough black coffee to stay awake for an important meeting their superior called.

“For the hundredth time, I’m sorry about the dish, Joon.”

“It was my mom’s, you damn tipsy piece of shit.” Namjoon sipped his bitter coffee, glaring over at Jackson as he limped towards the creamer. “And why the hell are you walkin’ like that? You finally got some ass-” One of the deputies walked in at that very moment and Namjoon choked on his coffee.

 _“Ass-prin_ for that headache…”

Jackson hid his laugh in his hands, but the loud cackle traveled far anyway.

“Nope, didn’t get any of that. Not exactly.”

Namjoon huffed, scrunching his face up as he took another sip. Wisely, he waited until they were alone until he spoke again.

“Well, _go on._ Somethin’ had to happen to have you stumbling in the house at the crack of dawn… all _haphazard_ and whatnot.”

Jackson dumped in his third pack of sugar, ignoring his friends grimace. Namjoon could judge all he wanted. Jackson just needed to wake up, not send his taste buds down to hell.

“Haphazard… wasn’t _that_ bad.”

“Stop changin’ the subject, J. Man up and tell me who the hell sucked your dick last night ‘cus-”

Thankfully Namjoon’s interrogation was cut short once again when one of the rookie cops peeked his head in the door and told them the meeting was starting.

Namjoon sent a sharp look at Jackson. “Later, Rookie.”

 

-

 

“Raymond Tuan. Everyone aware of who this man is?”

There was a projector in the middle of the room, a photo of a middle-aged Asian man was shone onto the screen behind the police department's captain of the narcotics unit.

Jackson was aware, but he didn't know enough about the man to be sure about anything.

“They call him the ‘California King’. He’s been around for about two decades now and every time we send in an informant, to be quite frank, we never see them again.”

Namjoon spoke up next.

“Or if we _do,_ they’re in a body bag.”

Jackson looked across the dimly lit room at his friend, who was sitting on the other side of the room with the Lieutenants. He had a grave face on, staring up at the screen with his arms crossed. The projector on the screen was cycling through different images at a rapid pace, making Jackson’s slightly hungover head throb.

“Officer Kim is correct, but I will expand more on that later.”

Jackson sent Namjoon a confused look, having not been told anything about this case. Namjoon was usually the one to put him up to speed about everything, since Jackson wanted to become a detective and all.

The cycle finally stopped, showing a grainy photo of the man taken pretty far, probably from an undercover squad car somewhere in the bay area.

“Raymond Tuan’s from LA, though we don't know all the specifics. He’s one of the biggest drug traffickers in California — alleged leader of the Black Lotus Mob.”

Another photo, this time showing heavily tattooed men standing around a shop talking and smoking. But something was _familiar_ about it to Jackson. He squinted at the photo, ass lifting off of the seat unknowingly, making a couple officers look and the captain to turn his attention to him.

“Officer Wang, you see something interesting here?”

Jackson’s mouth fell open around nothing, quickly sitting back down on the chair.

“Nothing, Captain. Just taking a closer look.”

The captain narrowed his eyes at the rookie.

“Wang, I can tell you have an inquiry. It's kind of _important_ to state things like that if you want to be a detective and everything, isn't it?”

The rest of the officers chuckled amongst themselves. Jackson sighed.

“Their tattoos… do they all have that Lotus flower tattoo on their bodies?”

“Yes, it’s apparently the mob symbol. Though, some people get the tattoo and aren't really affiliated at all just to try to look the part. Street credibility or something.”

Jackson jiggled his leg under the table. This was all starting to sound too close to him and he had only the slightest idea why. He didn't want to come to the conclusion until he was sure. Namjoon was already glaring at Jackson from across the room, sensing something off about his behavior.

“As you heard, Officer Kim brought up something earlier that leads me to the main reason I brought all of you together today. This will be graphic.”

Jackson shifted in his seat, trying his best to still his leg when a photo of a dead corpse was flashed onto the screen. The officers around him murmured in unrest, and the captain silenced them all with a hand in the air.

“This...this was our newest informant Lee. He was ‘sent back’ to the station lying right on the steps about a week ago. He bled out before we could do a damn thing.” The captain shook his head, switching to the next photo of the body.

“There was writing carved onto his back. No one could decipher it at Forensics so they sent the pictures back to us. Hell if I know… we had to pay the media off again not to report this and cause any more unrest.”

Jackson turned his head, looking at the carefully scratched words on the body. Of course _they_ didn't know what the hell it was. It was written in Mandarin.

The slideshow moved to an old news article.

“Now, the closest we ever got to catching Tuan was a couple years ago. Senator Ryan Jules, his _first_ objective was to rid the streets of Black Lotus. Of course, he was shot before he even finished the primaries. The evidence was full of holes, like someone dumped the most substantial parts.”

They were paid off.

“But we had enough intel to corner Tuan at the home he was staying in at the time, but he fled the scene before we even got there.”

Namjoon spoke up again. “We had someone infiltrate his inner circle about a decade back right? What’s he been saying now?”

“Last time he called was a several months back. Real hasty, to keep hidden. Said Raymond had flown to Seoul. There's no extradition between us and South Korea now. We can't even touch him. _Bastard.”_

The captain rubbed his temples. “If he comes back on American soil - he’s a goner, I know that.”

The captain switched to the same photo of Raymond, and it just unsettled the hell out of Jackson. He felt like he’d _seen_ this man before—this fucking drug kingpin, but there was no way. There was something about his eyes. The dark sincerity about them, like he _knew_ he was on top and there was so fucking way to catch him. Like he knew he was king that ruled an empire.

It was all too familiar.

After a few more briefings, the meeting was closed under the guise of a new investigation opening one last time about Raymond, basically riding on the agent in Seoul to come through with something huge.

Jackson left in a daze. Just as he did the night before.

 

-

 

Namjoon softly nudged him before they got in the car to go home that night.

Jackson was acting a little too weird since they left.

“I ain’t pryin’ it out of ya yet.” Namjoon rubbed his chin, looking over at the younger. “But I _am_ after a drink. I know you don’t like this bar anymore, so wait in the car and get your story together, J. I mean it.”

Jackson couldn't do a thing but watch as Namjoon entered the bar as he always did. He reclined his seat and tried to relax. Everything he saw today at the station… It all started to come together in little fragments as the day went on.

Jackson sat straight up in his seat.

Fuck relaxing. Jackson had to think now more than ever. That tattoo on Jimin’s body… the one on Mark’s… they were _undeniably_ flowers. They looked _just_ like the ones he saw in the presentation, but even more intricate. Even so, what the hell does that mean? He couldn’t just assume.

But at the same time, who knows what would happen if he left that alone?

What the hell could he even do now?

He sighed, staring out of the car window at the dive Namjoon went into. The neon letters _Paradise Bar & Grille _ glowed a brilliant orange and green with a bright arrow pointing towards the entrance to the small brick building that sat on the corner of the street. Jackson always found the name ironic. What _paradise_ had junk sitting on the sidewalk the front of it waiting for the trash pickup?

Yet, knowing that fact never threw him and Namjoon off from going in there and getting shitfaced during their college years. The Louisiana native took him there the first weekend they’d met, hearing Jackson transferred straight from China, teaching him the american custom of _beer, burgers, dance and repeat_ before anything else.

Those weren’t the only memories he had made at Paradise, though.

Jackson finally spotted the colorful jukebox sitting on the sidewalk, the wire trailing back inside from where the door was cracked open. He guessed that was a new gimmick they came up with to draw people to the bar. It used to be inside, right next to the window near the stools he always sat at.

 

_“Art student?”_

_“How’d you know?”_

_“I mean—unless you purposely went for the paint on your jeans look…”_

_“Oh damn, these were new... I think I make it work, though.”_

 

Jackson stepped out of the car, walking up to the neon-glowing jukebox.

 

_“I haven’t seen you in a while. Thought you were done with me.” Jackson sipped the beer from his tall glass, watching how the bubbles gathered and the condensation dripped from the side of hers._

_“It’s okay if you were… I didn’t expect anything from you. I still don’t.”_

_“I know, Jackson.”_

_Her pretty brown eyes he’d stared into long enough were distant now. She looked past him, almost like it hurt to do more._

_“Aren’t you hungry? You haven’t eaten all night.”_

_She smiled — a wobbly one, but it still counted. “You’re always worried about somebody, aren’t you?”_

_Jackson hadn’t seen her in so long. But just by looking at her, he knew the night wasn’t just about catching up again. She confused him._

 

He stared at the record covers, seeing all of the biggest hits he was sick of on the radio to songs he’s never heard of in his life. His chest caved in when he saw one particular record on the screen. The memories started to hit him like a freight train, and the urge to run back to the car and avoid this place again was overbearingly strong.

 

_“Then I’ll stop. Just for tonight.” Jackson walked over to the jukebox, leaning against it and covering the screen with his body so she couldn’t see. He chose one song he knew she never stopped singing, glad it was included tonight. “Limited time offer… take it or leave it.”_

_She cracked a real smile then. The sight of it made him forget all of his worries. Even it was—_

_“Just for tonight? You promise?”_

_“Under one condition.”_

 

The song started, the sound of the drums and guitar rung out into the night. Jackson turned his back to the machine, starring as the cars drove by and the streetlight burn from above him. He was _pretty_ sure this song wasn’t suppose to make him feel as shitty as he did at the moment.

He hoped Namjoon was having a _damn_ good drink.

 

_“Jackson… I have to tell you something.”_

 

He heard drunk patrons from inside humming along with the song zoning out as he stared off at the phonebooth across the street. It had been a while since he called home. It was too late at night to do so now, he knew that. All Jackson could do was stand there, humming to himself, hating the fuck out of himself for wanting to feel like he did the night before. Wanting to go back there, to the hotel, with those _people._

What the hell was he craving? Freedom? Another glass of that champagne?

Or maybe it was a adrenaline rush that ran through his veins when he thought about hanging out with a possible drug kingpin’s son that paid for his food and took him to a strip club just to _do_ it?

Why did he crave _danger_ so fucking badly? Wasn’t being a police officer enough?

As Jackson was questioning himself and getting lost in his own head, the climax of the song arrived, and so did the answer to his questions when the door of the dive bar slammed open.

_Stand up and turn around! Never them shoot us down!_

And then, everything just changed. Like a the switch of a light, day to night.

 

“Fuck, I love this song… _hey baby I’m talkin to you—stop yourself and list…”_

 

Jackson looked up at the new voice that definitely _wasn’t_ the lead singer of Heart.

They just stared at each other, him and the owner, and he song’s charismatic lyrics blared loud between the two strangers for a moment with no words exchanged.

Jackson’s breath caught in his throat sometime before then, when he was startled by the noise — a second time when he saw the person who barreled through it.

The person who was now dancing (or what he thought was dancing), swaying his body in some kind of fucked-up rendition of the classic two step and snap move like he was the lost member of The Jackson Five. He didn’t seem to care about the looks he received from by-standers, he was just radiating raw, drunk joy he would surely regret later.

It wasn’t like the movies. The world didn’t stop, time didn’t slow down, but the man had so much _charisma_ he could probably make it happen if he wanted to.

Jackson called it then.

At the corner of a dead end street, at a dive bar downtown, he laid eyes on one of the most breathtaking people in the whole city and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.

All Jackson could do was stare.

Just _stare_ at the way he was illuminated by fluorescent lights of the jukebox, how it casted a harsh pink glow onto the bronze skin. The way his hair was blacker than the ocean at midnight, the way his eyes were heavy and daunting, just _wandering_ about until they zeroed in on Jackson himself.

And then he _smiled._

“Dance with me, Honey Thighs!”

He was stunning. And he was so fucking _drunk._

“Huh— _wait!”_

The man took Jackson by the hand, stumbling about as he sang the words so off-pitched and foul it was ridiculous. He was thin, dressed head to toe in black and appeared a lot edgier than he was probably showcasing the man.

_“Anythin’ you w-want, we can make it happen!”_

He just kept singing, and singing, dragging the brunette along until eventually Jackson joined in — anything to keep the man from stumbling over his own feet and falling face first on the concrete.

He didn’t show any signs of slowing down.

 _“Ooh-Ooh…”_ They both locked eyes, Jackson’s eyes widening as the other belted out the next word:

 _“_ _Neeever!!!”_

It was stupid, messy, unlike anything Jackson was used to. At least not since he graduated college.

“I think I went too hard on the vodka, Honey Thighs — you think so?”

Jackson could tell his voice was on the softer side, yet rough from the burning alcohol he’d be downing too much of. It still made Jackson falter, such a gentle voice coming from the rambunctious stranger. He didn’t even know what he expected, really. It was best to trash those - expectations - when it came to this guy, Jackson concluded.

“Yeah, maybe just a tad...“ The brunette murmured after a while, eyes falling down to the stranger’s super plump lips before he trained them back to his eyes. He felt a hand pressed to his chest, where his heart was currently trying to make a break from, as he stumbled back.

“Your chest is…damn…you’re fuckin’ _hot…”_ The stranger giggled, the sound making his heart skip when he started to _rub_ along Jackson’s pecks through his t-shirt. He was definitely a shameless drunk.

His heavily made-up eyes connected with Jackson’s, giving a few slow blinks before his brows pulled together in confusion. “W-Who are you again? Is this a hook up?”

 _“Oh, God.”_ Jackson carefully guided his hands away from his chest, but keeping his other hand around his small waist to make sure he was balanced. “Uh...Honey Thighs. Ring any bells?”

The song from before had ended and another started, sounding like some George Michael tune.

“Fuck, right, right...” His hair was mussed now, he pushed it back and kept a hand holding Jackson’s forearm for his balance. His eyes were a stark, enhanced green, like the original color was covered by contacts.

 _"Are_ we gonna hookup, Mr. Honey Thighs? I think we should—” The raven haired stranger paused to hold his chest, gulping briefly like he would barf any second. _God, please don’t do that._

“...Before it starts raining and shit…y-you could change your mind.”

Jackson looked up to the clear night sky, holding the boy by his delicate shoulders. The logic made him wrack his brain for a second before he started to laugh, the sound making the other stare in confusion. “It’s not gonna _rain._ Why would I change my mind because it rained? Not that i’m implying something but—”

He never got the answer, because another boy barreled through the door — thankfully sober, but no less disruptive.

“There you are, Bammie!” He shouted, rushing towards his friend with his thick brows drawn together and a stone-faced expression when he saw Jackson.

How many times were people gonna give him _that_ look when they first saw him?

The newcomer scoffed, voice deep and threatening when he stepped up to him.

“Can’t you see he’s _drunk?_ Don’t be a dickhead.”

Jackson carefully let go of the other, waving his hands in front of himself, “It wasn’t like that, I swear. He came up to me and started… he’s all yours.”

The fuming redhead was about sound off, but his friend, boyfriend, whatever he was broke the tension when he shouted his next words.

“Hollywood, he’s so hot! Can we take him?”

Guess _boyfriend_ was out. But Jackson couldn’t rule it out considering the events of last night. The other just frowned, responding in the disappointed tone a parent would use with a child as he looked up at Jackson. “No, we can’t take him. Like, _at all.”_

“But It’s my birthday! _You said—”_

“No, Bambam!” He reprimanded, rolling his eyes before he looked up at the brunette. “I’m sorry about him, the boy still can’t hold his fuckin’ alcohol. I’ll take responsibility for anything he might’ve said, okay?”

And then, Jackson paused.

Bambam...

_Where the hell did he hear that name before?_

His stomach twisted, he gulped as he stepped back from the two, earning a weird look from the redhead.

 

_“Bambam didn’t claim his birthday present because of business. Give it to Jackson.”_

 

_“Who the hell is Bambam and why do I already hate him?”_

 

_“Hopefully, you’ll stay out of trouble and never find out.”_

 

Of course, Jackson thought. Of fucking course, the universe would have it that _he_ would end up wrapped up in this. Then again, he didn’t know him from Adam. Who was Jackson to assume he didn’t fit the bill, that he couldn’t be the worst of them all?

Bambam was cradled in his friend's arms, eyes blinking heavily as he stared right at him. Unmoving and focused, glazed and intoxicated.

 _It was good,_ the cop thought. Bambam wouldn’t remember a thing and it would be easy to move on and forget this night even happened.

Jackson knew, even then, how fucking stupid of a thought that was.

The door opened and he couldn’t even force his eyes away from the other until—

“Yo, J! I’m done here, let’s blow this joint…did I miss something?”

Jackson stumbled back, looking between the three men who were all staring back at him. And suddenly, right there, at the corner of a dead end street, at a dive bar downtown, in the middle of a dirty sidewalk with all eyes on him — _everything_ became too overwhelming.

All without a look back at a buzzed, very bewildered Namjoon — he took off.

“What the fuck?” Namjoon looked at the only other sober person, who’s eyes were wide and lost, basically looking just as confused as him. The redhead sighed and got a better grip on his friend, putting his arm around his shoulders.

“You’re his friend, I think… just tell him thanks, and this guy,” He nodded to the drunk man passed out on his shoulder, _“Also_ says thanks...in fact, he’ll fucking say it personally to the man— lord only knows what would’ve happened if he didn’t find him.”

“It’s really fine—” Namjoon interjected, only to get a sleek business card shoved into his chest.

_“See ya later, Alligator.”_

“Wait—”

He sent the confused blonde a weak armed salute before he hobbled off with his friend, muttering obscenities about him _‘embarrassing him in front of hot people’._

And then, at that very moment, there was a particularly violent clap of _thunder_ from above.

 _"Shit,"_ Namjoon stuffed the card into his pocket, mumbling to himself as he ran to his car to avoid the downpour.

“Can’t rest for _two_ damn seconds...”

 

-

 

_“You can tell me anything, you know that._

_“I really hope you’re telling the truth.” Tears started to track down her face, the sight making Jackson miserable._

_“Please…I can take it._

_The music around the bar started to sound, garbled and nightmarish. Jackson felt time stop. His heart was on the ground somewhere, he didn’t fucking have a clue._

_What was possibly so bad?_

 

Namjoon started the car up, tossing the card in his friend’s lap.

“I don’t know what hell that was about, but pretty boy gave me that and said the _other_ pretty boy wanted to thank you personally.”

He watched Jackson’s face pale at the card, the sight making his friend restless. There was something big Jackson was keeping from Namjoon and he was _over_ it.

“What the hell, man?”

“Dynasty Hotel.” Jackson said, rubbing his temples. “That’s the fuckin’ place from last night. That’s where I was, Joon.”

“Never heard of it.” Namjoon narrowed his eyes, driving ahead. “But why the long face? You came home wasted and satisfied, if I remember? I almost wanna hit the joint up myself if it made _you_ relax.”

“It’s not a regular joint, Joon.”

“Well, I meant what I said before. You been actin’ weirder and weirder since that night. So explain.”

Jackson didn’t say anything else for a few moments, staring down at the card in his lap, looking like he had a million things on his mind he couldn’t process.

Namjoon heard Jackson take a deep breath.

_“Hǔ fù wú quǎn zǐ…”_

Namjoon turned to him, one eyebrow quirked as he turned onto the street.

“What the hell you just say?”

Jackson watched the street lights out of the window, leaning his head against the hard surface.

 _“A tiger does not father a dog._ That’s what was carved onto the informants body. In Mandarin.”

“What—” Namjoon almost swerved out of their lane, earning a choice words from drivers in front of an beside them. _“Asshole!_ You wanna warn me before you go spouting essential fuckin’ info like that?! Where was this at the damn meeting?!”

Jackson wrung his hands nervously. “Take me back to the station. I’ll need another look at the evidence. I’ll tell you then.”

 

-

 

Namjoon and Jackson were lucky the head of the department was still at the station, in fact he was on his way out when they came in.

“Wang, Kim, what are you doing here?”

Namjoon looked to Jackson, who wasted no time explaining his case.

“I need access to the files from the presentation today. I think I have a lead on this investigation.”

“A le- what?” Their superior’s eyes narrowed as looked between both men. “Wang, I know you want to become a detective and all but this is serious shit. You can't just be-”

“ _A tiger does not father a dog_ was the message carved into the body. You said this could've been a message from Raymond, but how could he accomplish the death of a brand new informant when he isn't even in the country, sir?” Jackson questioned, sensing the superior take in every word with Namjoon alongside him nodding.

“Kim? You agree with this?”

Namjoon glanced at Jackson with a look that said _‘You better be right._ ’ before he backed him up.

“Jackson’s onto somethin’, sir. Raymond has eyes everywhere most likely, but why that message? What would _that_ be trying to say?”

Their superior wasn’t in the mood to question them further, sensing their seriousness. He took them into the evidence room, dumping the folders of evidence in a pile in front of them, watching Jackson rip through each one.

All he could think about was Dynasty Hotel, Mark’s endless wealth, _Mark himself._

He pulled out a photo of Raymond, analyzing it heavily.

Mark had a private beach to himself, a 5 star hotel with endless amenities he probably couldn't fathom, the tattoos... and most notably, the _Mandarin._ The very obscure, code-like phrases they were using couldn’t be coincidental.

There was only one conclusion at this point.

“I know.” Jackson started, making both Namjoon and their superior turn their full attention to him. “I think...I think I know who the heir of the Black Lotus Mob is.”

Namjoon choked on air. “What the _hell_ are you saying right now, J?”

Jackson looked the both of them in the eyes as he retold the events from last night, save for a few minor details of the strip club visit.

“I’m saying, I had drinks with the _son_ of Raymond Tuan last night. I-I know I did…and he wants me to come back but I _can't_ now-”

Their superior interrupted him. “You have to.”

Namjoon sucked in a sharp breath, looking at his best friend like he was fucking senile before the Chief spoke up.

“Understand me, here... _this_ is the chance we needed to take down that _entire_ crime ring, Jackson. If you can get in good with his offspring? The _heir…”_

Namjoon shook his head at their superior, quick to add his two cents. “I get what you're sayin’ but it’s a fuckin’ death wish! If Jackson goes in there, there ain't no guarantee to his survival. I can't…I can't let it happen. How do we even know this is for real?”

Jackson sighed, running a trembling hand through his hair, “But isn't this is our shot, Namjoon? Who knows when we’ll get an opportunity like this again? Mark already knows me, and _apparently_ another friend just invited me too!”

Namjoon looked at Jackson like he betrayed him, mouth agape, eyes flickering around the room in disbelief before he asked, in just above a whisper.

“Jackson, stop talking about this shit like it’s your destiny. Do you know what this means for you? Do you _really_ know, or are you talking out of your ass?”

Jackson took a slow breath out, glaring at his best friend. “Joon, I’m not a fucking idiot. He approached _me.”_

“I never said you were — I’m telling you to _think!”_

Their superior took a deep breath, holding up both of his hands to try and calm Namjoon and Jackson down.

“How much does Mark know about you, Wang? Last name? Place of birth, vehicle?”

Jackson shook his head. “Nothing. Just my first name, that I can speak Mandarin...and that i’m not a rich fuck like he is.”

“Good...good. This is a good start. Jackson, if you agree...you know the risks. We need to confirm what you're saying now. This is no easy feat...our guy with Raymond has been undercover for _years.”_

Namjoon sighed, running his hands through his hair. “Either way, the kid’s _gotta_ go back in order to confirm the facts. We had no idea Raymond ever had a kid. Our guy inside should’ve let us know if he’s still on _our_ side.” The blonde lifted up a few papers. _“This_ is too dangerous for anyone, let alone a rookie.”

“What are you saying, Kim?”

“I’m saying our guy inside ain’t reliable anymore…but that don’t mean Jackson is ready for all this, boss.”

Their superior looked between them both for a while.

“So what if you work _with_ Jackson? Kim, you’ve been on enough missions, busted dealers on the streets. You're a prime officer — damn near genius. You can help him, make sure he doesn't slip, keep him supplied.”

Jackson turned to his best friend with a pleading look in his eyes. “Yeah, Joon. I know the risks. I know. But I _need_ you by my side on this. I can do it. _We_ can do it.”

Their superior nodded. “And he speaks multiple languages Tuan’s son’s accomplices do. He’s more than equipt on that front.”

He looked Jackson dead in the eyes.

“If you succeed, you’ll _definitely_ become that detective. Shit, top of the line. Between you and me, you already have the potential... this would _skyrocket_ you. That’s my promise.”

The rookies mouth fell open and Namjoon’s snapped shut. That was it. Hook, line and sinker. There was no _way_ Jackson would turn it down now.

Why were they so eager to send a kid to his death? _His best friend?_

 

“Officer Wang, will you accept the mission to go undercover and infiltrate the Black Lotus Mob? Will you help free the streets of California - _the world_ \- of this burden once and for all?”

 

As he locked eyes with Namjoon across the table, Jackson realized it wasn’t about himself or Black Lotus anymore. It was about his best friend accepting this mission along _with_ him, one that guaranteed nothing but risks, watching Jackson accept becoming a whole new person and supporting him even if he thought couldn’t take the pressure.

It was about the people he could save, it was about his family, about his mother.

It was about his daughter at home with her.

His three year old _daughter_ he could barely see… the one he definitely couldn't expose to a mission like this, not in his life. He would die before that.

 

_“Hello?”_

_Jackson took a breath, a smile growing on his face. “Mom, it’s me.”_

_He heard her take a dramatic gasp, pots and pans banging all around that told him she was in the kitchen._

_“No, don’t stop cooking for me, Mom.” He laughed, hearing her soft giggle back. God, he missed her so much._

_“You’ve eaten right?”_

_“I will eat after I cook this Jackson, I promise. I was waiting on your call, sweetie. How’s everything? Why do you sound that way?”_

_Jackson sighed, “I don’t know...stress?” He looked out of the window of the break room. It was dark out. “I um...sorry for not calling earlier. Things are getting hectic.”_

_His mom sighed, “I know, son. You know it’s not me you need to apologize to.”_

_Jackson gulped, feeling his eyes heat up. Not now._

_“I-I know, I’m sorry- fuck.” She softly scolded his language, making him chuckle as he tried to gather his thoughts. “How...How is she? She okay? Sleeping well?”_

_His mom answered the questions in detail and then some. “She’s asking about you more and more, Jackson. When are you coming to see her?”_

_Jackson bit his lip, thinking about what could come if his inferences about the night before proved to be correct. It was up in the air at this point. He’d probably see them less and less._

_“I-I don’t know, mom. I miss her so much...c-can you put her on the phone. I’ll be quick, I promise.”_

_He heard his mom walk through the small house and the tell-tale creak of the room door he knew well. “She’s asleep, Jackson. There’s school tomorrow and it’s 10 at night now. I’m sorry.”_

_Jackson felt an ache in his chest. It was only Tuesday night._

_“No, no...it’s whatever. My fault. Lost track at the station.” He mumbled, gripping around the phone tight. He saw Namjoon coming out of the chief's office. “I have to go, mom. I love the both of you, okay. Give her a kiss for me.”_

 

The way Jackson saw it... he was already dead, wasn’t he?.

Jackson was dead as soon as he walked out of Dynasty with an invitation from the son of one of the biggest kingpins in America. As soon as he felt himself longing for such an extravagant lifestyle — as soon as he wanted to lose himself in it.

Jackson was a _complete_ goner when a raven haired beauty stared into his eyes, barging into his life off-key and intoxicated, makeup smudged and attitude brazen. When he knew what he was involved with and ran, but felt himself wanting to turn back.

Jackson craved it. The danger, the abnormal, the _spectacular._ He was weak for it and he knew all along.

 

“I accept. I accept this mission.”

 

Jackson Wang was a _dead, dead_ man.

 

 

 

**END OF ACT II**

 


	5. ACT III PART I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's officially going Down. Next part will be out v soon. Leave a comment <3

**ACT III PART ONE: BON VOYAGE, MOTHERFUCKERS**

 

Jittery knees, wandering eyes, stiff limbs.

Mark had it all as he sat in the vehicle. Usually, he isn’t a very anxious guy. Well, minus the anxiety that comes with anyone in this career path, he was a pretty level headed person.

Not today.

The week wasn’t going in his ideal direction, and his deals have recently been going sour. Ever since the phone call with his father, he hasn’t stopped looking over his shoulder. It seemed like everytime the phone rang, or anytime he was contacted there was always bad fucking news.

He hadn’t slept for more than a few hours a night, and when he did it was so restless he may as well had never even shut his eyes. His patience was short, his temper was hot, and everyone was being careful not to get singed.

“Snap the fuck out of it already, Yien.”

Everyone except Jinyoung, of course. Ever the exception that one was.

“What?” Mark responded, cutting a glare to his lover who sat by his side with his arms crossed, unamused and unrattled by the elders sour attitude.

“You’re scared. It’s way too obvious.”

Jinyoung laid it before him so simply, Mark could only kiss his teeth and turn back towards the front. He didn’t have the time for an argument or worse. Tonight was crucial for everyone and no one could afford to fuck up.

“And _you’re_ confused. Spare me the theatrics now, will you?”

“Oh, _please,”_ Jinyoung started, a quick chuckle following that made Mark clench his jaw in response. The other just smirked, but it went away as quickly as it came when he leaned into Mark’s side. He whispered into his ear.

“Don’t act like you don’t know. You can’t insult my intelligence with that bullshit. I _know_ you.”

Mark kept looking straight ahead, not even dignifying the younger with a response. And that just made Jinyoung, the pusher that he was, even more determined to rile the other up. While Mark was angsting over every transaction, every detail, Jinyoung became an afterthought to him — something for “later”. Business was one thing; and they did _great_ business together, of course.

But being set aside was something Park Jinyoung absolutely would _not_ deal with.

“I know you, baby.” Jinyoung repeated, “I know that tonight, with most of the crew off doing the biggest transaction of the month, this meeting tonight, shit with your _dad._ You’re pissing yourself silly.”

“Fucking brat,” Mark grabbed Jinyoung’s hand, whose fingers were trailing up his thigh, and forced it back down by his side. “How hard is to sit still and shut up, huh?”

Jinyoung just sighed, telling the driver to turn the radio up and put the partition up. Time for a different approach.

“Wha—”

Jinyoung grabbed Mark by the collar, crashing their lips together until the other gave into him like he knew he would. Jinyoung bit the bottom lip harshly, making a grunt come from the elder as he climbed up onto his lap. Mark’s breath caught in his throat at the sight of him, how his dark eyes were cold and calculating, with an elegant balance of the childish mischief he’d grown to fall for.

A complete anomaly, that man was. A soft beauty with a sharp mind and a sharper tongue. He was a pain in the ass. He was absolutely _perfect._

“You _know_ you don’t control me, Yien. Especially not when you’re out here acting like a little bitch.”

_“Jinyoung.”_

Mark growled out the warning, the other holding back a wicked grin when he got the reaction he’d been waiting for. “Huh, baby? You don’t like that, do you?” Jinyoung taunted, gripping Mark’s tie and pulling the other towards him.

Mark was just _delicious_ when he listened, Jinyoung thought. Pupils blown, little mouth hung open as he unconsciously clung to his every word, yet his words stayed so harsh. He was so easy to read.

“Didn’t know my boy was so _sensitive._ Scared of a little pressure like he hasn’t dealt with more.” He ripped off the tie Mark was wearing, putting it around his own neck. He was a _Tuan._ Just because they were meeting with someone older didn't mean he had to change for them to take him seriously.

“Mark Tuan doesn’t wear a fucking _tie,_ and he doesn’t _stress._ ”

Another heated kiss, the sound of the radio drowned out the grunts between them when Jinyoung started to grind down onto his lap. Mark felt his heartbeat start to pick up, his breath becoming more labored.

“He’s a fucking _king,_ right?”

Mark threw his head back when he felt Jinyoung’s lips over his jawline, down his neck, his collarbone. All over just _Jinyoung._

He finally took initiative and ran his hands up Jinyoung’s thighs, feeling the trained muscles flex under his grip through his trousers. Jinyoung laid his head on Mark’s shoulder, letting him bury his nose in his hair, running his hand through the soft strands; it was something he often did when the elder was in this state.

“We’re gonna handle everything, babe.” Jinyoung mumbled into his chest, sighing when he felt Mark’s hands rubbing over the small of his back in tiny circles. “Nothin’ to worry about. You can talk to me.”

“I know, it's just…” Mark paused, eyes fluttering around as he tried to find his words. Jinyoung massaged the back of the elders neck, smiling when the older melted into the touch. It was during moments like these, where it was just him and Mark, when he found himself wondering what path his lover would’ve taken if he’d grown up normally.

What journey would the two be on at this moment if everything was normal? Two heirs to companies? Regular kids fresh out of college?

Jinyoung liked to think he would’ve been by Mark’s side no matter what the conditions were.

“I can’t predict tomorrow. There’s too much at stake. I have everything I ever wanted now, but God damn it…”

“It’s so easy to lose.” Jinyoung said softly, the words shooting a bullet through Mark’s heart. It was the same thing his father said to him countless times before, years prior to that final phone call.

Power was as addicting as it was fleeting. There would always be blow, just as there would always be people to sell it to, along with people wanting to _kill_ the ones who distributed it.

It was comforting how constant that cycle was. Mark was raised to think the risk was worth the rewards.

“But you _won’t_ lose me.” Jinyoung said, the conviction in it making Mark chuckle. Even if he built a crew filled with friends he’d keep for as long as he could, the reality of anyone turning on him was all too real. He guesses that’s why Jinyoung was so adamant, and so callous towards most of them. It wasn’t a good way to approach life, but it was the safest. He was prepared for the worst. Prepared to protect.

They stared at each other a while, mapping out each other’s faces with their eyes.

“I love you, Yien...” Mark sucked in a breath at the words, no matter how often he heard them they always threw him in a daze. He didn’t like to hear it, it just reminded him of his position. “I don’t care if you won’t say it back, or how you fuckin’ feel about it.”

Mark giggled at the sudden hostility, rubbing over his face with a sigh. “Damn you and these stupid speeches. Drivin’ me nuts.” He grabbed Jinyoung’s hand, planting a soft kiss on the back of it. “You drive me crazy. Think you were made just for me, huh?” He smiled when he saw the dark haired man practically buzzing from the praise.

“Obviously. Who else could handle you like me?”

Jinyoung winked, climbing off the others lap just in time for them both to hear the incessant banging of a small fist on the window. He rolled his eyes, Mark nudging him in the side as he called out to the front.

“Driver, unlock the door please.”

Back to business.

“The windows are damn near fogged up, you both never fucking chill, do you?” The cotton candy haired man slid into the vehicle, sitting right across from the couple with a knowing, quite amused expression.

Mark rolled his eyes next. “Like you wouldn't be doing worse to Hoseok if he were here.”

Jimin giggled at the eldest, “You’re damn right! With how much stress you put me under, I make sure I get some every moment I can.”

He sent Jinyoung a flying kiss, making Mark stare between the two beauties with a pacifying expression in case they got too snappy. Again, tonight just wasn't the night.

Jimin just ran a hand through his hair, adjusting his outfit, “Too bad you sent him on that goddamn _field trip.”_

“Field trip, my ass. You're lucky the dancers can get on without you because I need you here.” Mark responded, earning a laugh from the bubbly boy.

“I left Jennie in charge of the dancers, and you know Minhyuk is always ready to step in and make sure everyone in the Lounge stays entertained.”

Mark nodded, “And Yoongi to make sure it all doesn't go up in fucking flames while we’re gone.”

Jimin gave a small chuckle followed by a listless sigh that made Mark raise his brows, “As if Yoongi doesn't have enough he’s stressed about,” And naturally, as if sensing the eyes in his every move, Jimin turned his sights on his partner, a familiar mischief swarming in his smoky gaze.

“And _you._ How’s my favorite boy tonight? I love having to do meetings with you, babe.” Jimin touched up his lightly glossed, plush lips in a compact mirror before he snapped it closed. “Havin’ to act like you don’t hate me so people don't suspect we have weaknesses. Should’ve been an actor, huh?”

“Wouldn't call that a weakness - just a precautionary measure, Park.” Jinyoung put it curtly that he didn't trust Jimin, leaving no room for wondering when the other tipped his head to the side in questioning. He gave the man no reason to think that way with all that he does for the group, but Jimin was too well-versed in Jinyoung’s pettiness to give a fuck. He could hold a _mean_ grudge.

“But you’re right on the rest. Truly a dynamic trinity, the three of us, huh?” Jinyoung smiled dangerously and Mark squeezed his thigh as if sensing the future, but he continued on despite the discreet warning.

“The boss and his valued right hand. But of course,” The dark haired man leaned forward, “We can't forget the eye candy.”

Jimin furrowed his brows, opening his mouth to fire off a retort but Mark decided it was time to cut it off, be the referee and call a timeout.

“You’re such a—”

“Enough.”

Mark snapped, giving a hard stare between them before he continued, “We got a lot to do tonight. We’re meeting with the leader of the gang that occupies what mine and my dad’s sectors of Black Lotus does not — Chongsa. I need you both on your A-game when we speak to him. None of this childish shit either. Jimin?”

The pink haired man looked away from Jinyoung and nodded, “Cool with me. Always a pleasure to see Yongsuk, but where exactly are we meeting? I assumed it was out of Dynasty since we’re in the car, but…”

Mark smirked, throwing an arm around Jinyoung.

“We’re going back home tonight, boys. Gonna meet him right at the pier.”

“The same pier the shipment will return to? You sure that’s a good idea?” Jimin questioned, earning a familiar eye roll from the man next to him.

“Of course it’s a good idea. It’s secluded should anything go south and it’s our own territory. Chongsa wouldn’t try shit.”

The eldest squeezed Jinyoung’s thigh, “Oh no, I understand Jimin’s concern. Relationships aren’t the same as they were before... _you know._ We need to be more cautious; and if he really is responsible for the raids of my warehouses - shit could get messy.”

Jinyoung leaned into his lover, running a hand through his hair. “They’ll go over _smoothly._ By the time we square this away, the crew will have touched their destination and the transaction will have finished. Two birds, one stone. It’s flawless, babe.”

Jimin just sighed, clutching onto his silver chain as he eyed the low rolling waves and the sunset sky. It was a deeper pink than his bubblegum hair, coming down into a beautiful gradient. A classic california sunset. He’d have to try that orange color next.

“They’re so far out...” He turned away, looking Mark straight in his eye, seeming to communicate his apprehension well enough. “Has Youngjae gotten in contact with you yet? Anybody?”

“Not yet, but he will. Always does.”

Jinyoung clicked his teeth, appraising the smaller man with his head downcast on the other side of the vehicle. “That’s not what he means, Mark.” He crossed his arms, his facial expression loosening up from guarded to a softer form of knowing. “Hoseok’s fine, Jaebum’s fine, everyone is. So suck it up and let’s get going before it’s too dark.”

Jimin snapped his head up to look at the other, sharp eyes tracing his for any signs of a potential jab, but all he saw was something kin to sincerity.

Then Jinyoung dared to smirk, leaning forwards to pour a glass of champagne for the both of them (Mark always kept a bottle in his car). “C’mon co-star. We’ve got an Oscar winning performance to put on, don’t we?”

Jimin stared at the glass for a moment, looking between them both before he took it. He may as well act like he gets along with Jinyoung tonight. They both knew there was too much on the line.

Mark smirked at the softer moment between the two before Jimin sent them off with a simple lift of the flute.

“What the hell are we waiting for? I know Hollywood is just _dying_ to see us again.”

They all chuckled amongst themselves, Jinyoung and Jimin quickly acknowledging each other with the regulatory ‘Don’t fuck up’ look before Mark called out to the front.

“You heard him, driver. We’re goin to LA, baby!”

 

-

 

“Day 2 of our amazing cruise, the wine is sweet, the people are beautiful, the weather is great -”

Bambam watched Taehyung twirl in place on the boat’s deck, bandana wrapped around his wrist so he wouldn't lose it, cherry red hair whipping in the breeze. “And I _still_ don't know where the hell we’re going!”

“Does anyone even give a fuck?” Bambam started, sipping his pina colada mid-sentence with a satisfied groan. “It’s beautiful as hell out here, Tae. _This_ is the vision.”

Both boys were standing in their own corner of the yacht, leaning against the railings as they looked out to the sun setting over the ocean. They were well away from Los Angeles, where the boat left from, following a route nobody gave a fuck to ask about. Bambam heard they were heading to Mexico or something.

“We’ve got a new penthouse in LA to get home to. The _second_ one in a year’s time. Let that sink in, Hollywood.” Bambam stepped up to the older, removing his gold rimmed glasses and placing it on his own face. “It’s the best birthday I could ever ask for with the best fuckin’ person I ever met.”

Taehyung looked fondly at his best friend before snatching back his designer glasses back in earnest. He had difficulty seeing the situation through the rose colored specs that his friend did, but he wouldn't shit on his happiness and point it out. There was a time and a place and this wasn't it.

Plus, it was _really_ hard to be negative on a fucking yacht.

“The apartment, this cruise… _pretty_ convinced you’re humpin’ Coke Angel with the way he’s been spoilin’ you. One hell of a sugar daddy, huh?”

“What?!” Bambam guffawed, shoving Taehyung back as they both let out a loud round of cackles. “Don't even _say_ that, geez… he’s my boss.”

The redhead giggled, tipping his glasses down below his eyes to peek at his friend. “Why? It ain't true?”

 _“Hell_ no. Angel’s just… it’s the timing and shit. This cruise wasn't for me. Plus, rich people don't know how to give regular gifts, you know that.”

Taehyung couldn't help but laugh in disbelief at how nonchalant Bambam was about it all. Mark had sent them directly to the penthouse, then dropped the cruise news on them just a _day_ later. “The hell is it for, then?”

“Fuck if I know,” Bambam just shrugged, reaching into his shorts pocket and pulling out a small baggie of cocaine. “But I know what it's _about_ to be for.”

Taehyung lightly gasped, pushing the younger's hand down, and looking over their shoulders. “Idiot! You don't know who the fuck is on this yacht right now. Give it a rest.”

The other quirked a brow at him, “I promise you, Tae. Mark invited _no one_ who wasn't planning to get smashed. That's why no one gives a shit where we are!” Bambam gestured to the top deck of the boat, filled with people getting blazed and zoning out to the music.

“They have all the access to any form of _fun_ they choose if you catch my drift,” He circled his friend from behind, putting his hands on his shoulders. _“You’re_ the one who needs to relax.”

Taehyung crossed his arms, looking over to the crowd of intoxicated people. “I guess I should, huh? It’s back to work for me after this.”

Bambam nodded, slapping him on his back and urging him on like the social butterfly he knew his best friend was. _“There_ you go. It’s a vacation! So go have some damn fun. Don't do anything I wouldn't do though.”

“...That really ain't much, Gorgeous.”

“Exactly!” Bambam winked after that, earning a howl from Taehyung before he sauntered away, accepting a blunt from a woman in the crowd and joining the throng of people in the middle of the deck. As he watched he sighed, sending mental telepathy to Taehyung no to get _too_ fucked up regardless of his words.

He knew as well as anyone that Taehyung really didn’t know his limits once he really let himself go without having to worry about Bambam. In a way, the stressed actor deserved to let go. But this wasn’t Dynasty and they didn’t know these people.

The first night of the cruise was fine, them being too tired from Bambam being hungover the night before to do any serious partying, but now it was free reign to do whatever the hell they felt like.

But thinking that way, Bambam changed his thought process a bit. They should be able to hang out together for once without worrying about other shit. Maybe he _wouldn’t_ sell anything and just make connections for later. At any rate, these people seemed to always be down for a party be it on land back in LA or in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. He had time.

“Bambam, you look melancholy as hell. Thought you’d be all over this.”

Bambam turned to the deep monotone voice that couldn’t belong to anyone other than Im Jaebum.

Commonly referred to as ‘JB’, he was Black Lotus’ weapons enthusiast and right hand of Jung Hoseok, the handy-man who was currently standing beside him sporting a tropical print shirt and that classic ‘Hobi smile’ that inherently relaxed the receiver... until they got on his bad side. Then it just turned sadistic and creepy.

“Aint sad, just thinkin’ about shit.” Bambam looked away from the crowd Taehyung was long lost in and between the pair. Bambam cocked his head to the side. They were too quiet about this. They weren't drinking, smoking, anything. “Ya’ll wanna tell me where pretty boy is sending us and why? Is this a job?”

“Not yours,” Hoseok remarked, looking to Jaebum as if communicating whether he should answer Bambam’s question before his walkie talkie started going off. Lucky timing for him. “It’s Choi, gotta take this.”

He patted Jaebum on the shoulder before slipping away somewhere below deck, leaving both men alone. It was pretty fucking awkward - and not because Bambam didn’t _like_ Jaebum, but through the year he’s been dealing with Black Lotus, he could never get a proper feel on the guy. So anytime he was in the same room, he did nothing more than a routine acknowledgement if he had to and moved on.

He knew Jinyoung trusted Jaebum more than he usually trusted anyone that wasn’t their boss, and Mark trusted him as well, even with Hoseok he felt the same way, but the guy had a lighter personality to crack at least.

That, and Hobi didn’t carry a nine millimeter on him at all times.

Jaebum turned to him, hands stuffed in his pockets, eyes obscured by his blacked out sunglasses. Bambam didn’t doubt the classic icy stare wasn’t staring through his soul behind them. “You’re not gonna do shit while we’re on this cruise but relax and make sure everyone’s having fun. Got it?”

Bambam smirked at the expected cold response, leaning his body on the railing. “Yes, sir. You gonna take that order too, or are you still on patrol?”

“I’m not relaxing until we reach our destination, neither is Hobi.” Jaebum looked over to where his partner went off to and Bambam shrugged. If they didn't wanna tell him - fine, so be it.

“Tell me who else is here. Me, you, J-Hope?”

“Jisoo. She invited a lot of girls here, as you can see.” Jaebum sighed, looking over to the increasingly wild crowd popping bottles of champagne and stripping down from dresses into bikinis and trunks.

“JB,” Hoseok called out for the man before the younger could inquire further, and then Bambam was alone on deck again. He decided to leave and get back to his and Taehyung’s room. He heard the music blasting from above him when he descended the winding stairs inside of the boat. There were wide windows all around him that showed the dark, sparkle of the water right outside. Most of everyone was out on the deck but there were a few people sitting at stools with a shiny counter and couches in a faux-living area that he supposed was supposed to feel _‘homey’._ To a billionaire's standards.

When Bambam finally got to the room, he wasn’t even able to take a breath before busting into the bathroom, throwing the pristine toilet seat up and clutching his increasingly queasy stomach as he emptied everything he ate into the bowl. As he flushed the contents down and leaned against the sink, he could admit where he was wrong earlier. Boat Sickness was definitely not apart of _The Vision._

He removed his shirt so he could do an impromptu outfit change for the night’s festivities, naturally taking the time to stare at his slender frame in the mirror. Sometimes, when he had moments alone, he thought about the year prior back in Manhattan. How he was constantly judged on the very same body he had now, and even while he toned up a bit more than he was then, he still wasn’t the ideal for what they wanted a model to be. It didn’t fucking matter anymore, and he knew that. But as Taehyung told him once a while ago: _‘It ain’t hard to be weak when it’s just you.’_

And when Bambam ran his hands through his growing hair, staring at every feature on his face with just _little_ bit of disdain - he couldn’t argue with that one.

Snapping himself out of it, he turned on the faucet, grabbing his toothbrush and going to town to erase the nastiness he’d repeated a million times since being on this yacht from his mouth. Mid-gargle, he came to a complete pause. There was rustling and footsteps outside of his door.

“TaeTae?”

He didn’t get a response.

The Taehyung he knew would’ve yelled back a hundred times louder, or came right in without knocking. Bambam held his breath, dipping down to the cabinet below the sink and feeling for the silk pouch stored on the inside. He quickly discarded the soft covering, gripping the cold pistol in his palm before softly padding his feet to the door. His heart was racing, he never had to use his newly taught skill on anyone before and he was nervous as fuck - but he had to stay calm. He put his ear to the surface of the door, listening.

The rustling was still happening, and the longer it went on the more Bambam’s patience died out. He and Taehyung’s stuff was expensive as hell and he wasn’t about to let it get it stolen — especially some of his supply.

“Step back or i’ll blow your damn brains out.” Bambam bursted out of the bathroom, pointing the pistol at the intruder with no emotion on his face before they turned around to face him.

Oh, _fuck._ He knew this guy. Bambam held back a long groan. He _definitely_ knew this guy. He tightened his grip on the pistol.

“Yo, it’s all cool man! I don’t mean any harm—”

“Shut the fuck up.” Bambam said sternly, “Put that down.” The now _blonde_ intruder was holding a jewelry box Taehyung left on his bed, clearly intending for Bambam to find it since it was sitting there. He spotted a light overnight bag beside the bed and pointed at it. “This isn’t your room… why’s your shit in here?”

The guy, the unfortunately gorgeous guy, looked down to the bag and then back at Bambam with his animatedly shiny brown eyes. “Your friend and I ran into each other earlier, that redhead. He offered me this room in exchange for mine for some reason I don’t fuckin’ know. Didn’t know you were gonna be in here.”

The more the guy spoke, the more Bambam felt himself growing more and more annoyed. Taehyung, _really?_ This was fucking embarrassing and _sad._ Hell, he would have preferred if he paid a hooker and sent em’ to his door with a ‘get some’ post-it note on their forehead instead of trying to play matchmaker. He almost _killed_ the guy.

With an exhausted sigh, Bambam closed his eyes for a moment before lowering the gun. He put the safety on and tucked it into his pants, holding back a smirk when he saw the other’s eyes briefly flicker down to his still half-naked body. _That_ was interesting.

Maybe this wasn’t such a bad set up after all.

“You know,” He started, bounding over to the man’s side and dropping his luggage on the bed. “If you wanted to see me again… you didn't have to almost get yourself _killed_ to do it.” Bambam let his eyes wander as well, stopping at the thighs that were as well-shapely as ever in his jeans. This was definitely Honey Thighs from Paradise, back in front of him once again. A warning would've been welcomed.

The other man stared at Bambam awhile before he softly smiled. The sight made him feel sick again.

“Maybe i’m into that, Bambam. It’s Jackson, by the way.”

“Hm?” Bambam’s brows furrowed, “How do you remember my name and I don’t remember yours?”

Jackson sat on Bambam’s bed, watching the man sift through his big duffle bag of clothing. “Because I didn’t tell you mine, roomie. Didn’t think i’d see you again.”

Bambam briefly looked up at the blonde, eyes narrowed. “You’re actin’ _mighty_ chummy with a guy who almost blew your pretty face off.”

The other just cackled, the loud sound making Bambam startled before a small smile fought it’s way onto his face. “I’ve seen you sloppy drunk, by some standards we’re already pals.”

“Nobody who says pal is my _pal.”_ Bambam said, holding up a silk orange button up and laying it against his body. Jackson put his arms behind his head, watching the other man weigh his options. Bambam couldn’t believe he was really here like this with a guy he only just officially met. Something about it felt natural, but for now he didn’t trust it. This wasn’t a year ago and this Jackson guy wasn’t Taehyung.

“If you don’t want me to stay here, just say the word.” The blonde offered.

Bambam just continued to walk to the closet, sifting through the shirts until he found the white one he was looking for. Jackson wasn’t Taehyung; that being said, he really wouldn’t _protest_ if Jackson was his roommate. Nothing’s gonna happen, and they don’t _have_ to be friends because he helped him when he was wasted. Bambam couldn't wait to shove the upcoming uneventful night in Taehyung’s face - it’ll teach him not to try to set him up anymore.

Hopefully.

“I like that orange.” Jackson said, earning a soft glare from Bambam across the room. He held up the two options, then looked back at the man who was dressed in light wash jeans, a plain white shirt and an even plainer brown jacket over it. He didn’t seem to have much to offer regarding fashion.

“Then i’m choosing the white.” Bambam said indignantly, holding the garment in his hands as he looked over at Jackson. “I’m about to change my pants, so…”

“Right.” Jackson covered his eyes and turned his body, making Bambam sigh and shift his feet in impatience.

“I want you to leave.”

“Oh, of course. Sorry ‘bout that.” Jackson looked back over at Bambam who was looking in his bag for something else, not even giving the man another glance as he headed towards the door.

“Will I see you out on the deck? Party’s getting pretty packed.” He said, making Bambam look at him standing at the doorway with a hopeful expression. It was masked behind what he might’ve thought was nonchalance.

“Maybe, maybe not. You’ll just have to see like everyone else, won’t you?” Bambam said, biting the inside of his cheek and turning his back on Jackson, who currently was hiding a grin off of his face with his hand.

“Fair enough. I’ll be looking for you, Orange shirt.”

 

-

 

When the driver came around and opened the doors for the trio, the atmosphere between them changed from loving couple and a dutiful bandwagon to three high profile mob members, heads held high with an agenda to fulfill. And the agenda for that night was very simple: Get answers by any means necessary.

The three men exchanged looks between each other when they exited the vehicle, staring at the empty pier in front of them. The harsh white lights from the posts afar casted shadows over each of them, making them virtually undetectable from the distance unless you knew they were coming.

“The pier is so… _dead.”_ Jimin remarked, his voice low and cautious as he looked all around him. There was no sound coming from anywhere, the spot was secluded and the waters were still. It was eerie as hell.

“Yeah well,” Mark started, straightening his suit jacket as he started to walk ahead of the pair. He told their security to hang back and scan the area for any ambush attempts. He could never be too cautious. “It sure isn’t Santa Monica, is it?”

Jinyoung took in a deep breath, rolling his shoulders back and turning to Jimin with a familiar, more relentless brand of sharpness in his eyes. “I like this better, anyway. Less witnesses.”

“Well, shit… it’s _that_ kind of night?” Jimin caught up to them as they climbed the steps to the pier’s wooden deck. He still didn’t know why they chose to meet up here instead of the city, but knowing Mark, the reason would be revealed all too soon.

“Jimin, do you have the files with you?”

“For sure,” The pink haired man snapped his tiny fingers, bringing a burly guard by his side with a manilla folder in his hands ready for him. “There ya go, boss. Everything is there.” Jimin handed the folder straight to Mark, who quickly skimmed through it before he handed it off to Jinyoung.

“Straight ahead, guys.” Jinyoung pointed in front of them and sure enough, the guest of the evening was standing right there at the far end with their back turned. They proceeded down the deck, each of them becoming more confused the closer they got to their guest because well, by the build of the body, the tightness of the outfit — it _definitely_ wasn't who the hell they needed to see.

“What the fuck?” Jimin exclaimed, looking to Jinyoung and Mark who looked equally as put off by the surprise guest.

“Where the hell is Yongsuk? Who is this? Some underling?” Jinyoung crossed his arms in defiance, while Mark kept a very cool, emotionless expression. The stranger finally turned around, revealing himself to be a man no older than themselves with bold blonde hair and dipped blue tips that confused the fuck out of each of them. Mark spoke first.

“Yongsuk thought he was too damn good to meet me himself, huh? That’s bold. Even for Chongsa.”

The stranger smirked, seeming to draw amusement from their reactions. He looked between them all with intrigue before stopping at Mark. “Don’t get trigger happy yet, Golden Boy. Boss wanted me to meet you here first, in case you came gun’s blazing like a wild western. I presume he thought you’d be pretty… irrational. The name’s Wonho, if you were wondering.”

Jimin kissed his teeth, making all three men look his direction. “Irrational my ass — he didn’t wanna meet on our turf ‘cause he’s a pussy.”

Wonho threw his head back to laugh, showcasing all straight white teeth and a sharp smile when his eyes lingered on Jimin. “Oh _wow_ … babyboy here’s got one _hell_ of a mouth, Tuan. You should take care of that before someone else does.”

“Won’t be you—” Jimin stepped forward but Jinyoung gave him a glare that kept him from knocking this meathead on his back. Mark had a stare down with the stranger until he decided the offer was worth asking about. He could weigh if it was too much of a risk after he heard more. It seemed like Yongsuk was wanting this meeting done semi-publicly so neither side could make any sudden moves.

“Well, _Wonho.”_ Mark started, the name rolling off his tongue like he wasn't the least bit put off. “What’s the address?”

 

-

 

“Choi, come in.”

_“What’s up?”_

Jaebum rolled his eyes, pressing down on the walkie talkie. “How far are we from the destination?”

_“Uh, North 30 degrees, fourteen point five...60 minutes. Over.”_

“English, Choi.”

_“An hour away, dumbass.”_

Jaebum and Hoseok both had a laugh between themselves before they went back on the deck from the pilot's quarters, making sure everything was going according to plan. On the way to the deck, they passed right by Jackson who was sitting at one of the barstools inside sipping on champagne.

Jackson let his eyes linger after the two, before he got up from his chair, waiting a couple beats before following them up on deck himself. It was dark now, and the atmosphere on the yacht had changed from what it was an hour ago for some reason. He didn’t have time to scrutinize when he saw black hair and a distinct orange top sliding his way through the crowd, talking with people, slipping papers into their back pockets with an ease only the most skilled dealers have.

Bambam was doing what he said he would do - making connections. Most of these people were socialites, models, actresses; no one terribly important, but all wealthy enough to afford his product. Thanks to Taehyung, these desperate-for-fame types were his main types of clients, having been recommended to buy from him by the redhead — and Bambam appreciated that greatly.

These people were about to start partying harder than they were now by the conversations he heard going around, so after getting a couple more numbers he slipped out of the crowd and onto the emptier parts of the deck. The heat caused him to sweat down his chest, so he undid the first few buttons and let out a sigh when the breeze hit. Bambam stared into the sky at the stars that were beginning to dot the sky. The sunset was long gone, but the night had already long since begun. There was much more to accomplish.

“I see you took my suggestion. Looks real nice on you.”

Bambam turned around to see the annoying blonde, letting out a sigh before he faced the same way he was again. “Just because we’re roomies don’t mean you gotta stalk me.”

Jackson let out a snort, “No one’s stalking you. You're the only person I know on here.”

The black haired man thought briefly of Taehyung and where he could be before he slightly turned his head to the side — not fully acknowledging Jackson, but giving him an inch more than before, “And what’s that gotta do with me?”

Bambam heard Jackson’s footsteps approaching him until the blonde ended up by his side.

“You’re _also_ one of the only _sober_ people on this boat right now.”

It wasn’t a lie. If they looked around the boat at that moment, they would see people starting to get rowdy with their body shot games, strip poker, snorting coke for sport and more marijuana than what usually got to circulating at parties. Knowing this already, Jackson lifted his brows, waiting for a response when Bambam gave him his full, undivided attention.

“Who invited you here anyway?”

The blonde turned on his heel to walk back inside, “Mark did.”

Bambam’s face screwed up in utter confusion. How the hell did Jackson know Mark? Why would Mark invite _him?_ The only people Mark invited personally were the mob members and affiliates who _had_ to come. He found himself following Jackson inside, asking after him about the revelation of his invite. The music was getting louder and louder, so he had to basically yell to get heard.

_“Jackson, how do you know him?! Childhood friends or some shit?!”_

Jackson threw his head back to laugh, the growing familiar sound now starting to get on Bambam’s nerves when it came at his expense. They moved to a quieter part of the yacht, down in the hallway where the rooms were lined up. He didn't know why they weren't even at the party at that point, that’s just where they ended up walking.

“Calm down, we only met recently… I didn't think he’d invite me to a cruise he wasn't even on, though.”

Bambam just shook his head at that one. This Jackson guy just finds himself in a whole lot of situations, doesn't he? The younger continued to walk aimlessly down the long hallway, dragging his hand along the wall. He had the childish urge to play Ding Dong Ditch, but he had a guest with him.

“So… you came to see Mark, huh?”

“Yeah I did. I was lookin’ all over for him.” Jackson started, looking at the black haired man fiddle with a newly acquired silver chain necklace, eyes straight ahead, head held high. His boots made this clicking sound when he walked, the cadence of his steps couldn’t keep up with how fast Jackson’s heart was pounding — fuck knows why.

“How’s that goin for you?”

Like his voice, the softness of Bambam’s entirety was way more pronounced than the first night they ran into each other. His voice was rough and slurred then, only making Jackson long for what it sounded like without the influence. Now that he had it, it was hard to not ask the man a million questions.

What Jackson was doing now was more dangerous than any risk he could take. But he knew, it would be his ticket in.

“Not too bad,” Jackson licked his lips, looking away from the younger. “Ran into this pretty boy, almost got shot — can you fuckin’ believe that? Think he’s got a boyfriend or a girlfriend.”

Bambam snorted, “A boyfriend, huh?”

The blonde swallowed, “Yeah. There was a jewelry box sitting right on his bed. Thought someone was trying to tell me something until he popped out. Looks good on him, though.”

Jackson watched Bambam look down at his necklace, noticing it was a sun. Maybe his partner has the moon, or some shit like that.

“Why assume? Might've been from a friend or somethin’, you know?” Bambam fiddled with the accessory, then tucked it inside his shirt. Taehyung had gotten them for his birthday to commemorate their friendship and the meaning was personal to the both of them.

“Yeah, maybe.” Jackson said, suddenly at a loss for words. “That would be… that would be cool.”

Bambam finally looked up at the blonde, big hazel eyes filled with curiosity, “Just cool?”

“Yeah,” Jackson looked down at his shoes, “Then I wouldn’t feel too bad about Mark not being here.”

The younger looked at Jackson a bit longer, voice suddenly lower than it was a second ago. “Why’s that?”

“Just ‘cause,” Jackson shrugged, ignoring the sinking feeling in his gut when his mouth spoke before his brain. “I found somethin’ better to occupy my time.”

And as soon as those words left his lips, the younger completely paused. Jackson thought he fucked up when a few different emotions flashed over Bambam’s face before he crossed his arms, staring at the blonde from the corner of his eye.

“Bambam—”

“I’m bored now,” Bambam turned around completely, all prior conflictions gone in an instant, like a switch. “Let’s get back to the party.”

So, that’s exactly what they did.

It was packed when the pair made it back on deck, everyone had moved to the top of the boat, the party having taken itself up about 10 notches with the way people were acting. Bodies were crushed against each other like sardines almost, and it was hard to even properly see through the crowd let alone walk through it.

“I need to check on V,” Bambam called back to the blonde, “Help me up.”

“V?”

“The redhead—get me up here!”

Strong hands were on Bambam’s waist as he stood on top of the chair, eyes scanning the growingly rambunctious crowd for his friend. He ignored how Jackson’s hands lingered a bit on his body, becoming frustrated when he couldn’t spot Taehyung as easily as he wanted. _Oh—fuck._ Bambam’s stomach started to bubble up again, his head started to swim, making him sway on his feet and tumble unceremoniously into the blonde’s arms.

“Bambam, you alright? Bambam—” Jackson carefully lowered the man before he got shoved to the side, leaning over the deck and literally dry heaving over the railing. The younger took a shaky breath, feeling a hand over the small of his back that belonged nobody but Jackson. And that was exactly why he shoved him off completely, stumbling back and feeling his head throb like someone took a hammer to the back of it.

He heard Jackson say something like “Sea Sick” and “Water” before he took off into the crowd, leaving Bambam clutching onto the boat’s railing and watching the crowd swallow him whole. _Just let it pass over, let it pass over._ He shut his eyes and took a couple deep breaths before someone appeared by his side again.

“Jisoo, what’s up?”

The dark haired girl gave him a concerned once over, “You look a mess—this party’s a fucking mess.” She brought her nails to her mouth, eyes scanning the deck for most like any sign of Jaebum or Hoseok. “People are just falling the hell out—I dunno,” She turned to Bambam, her bottom lip worried between her teeth. “I think someone’s spiking the drinks—which is like, _normal_ but…”

“That’s fucked.” Bambam ran his hands over his face, “Have you seen V? Like at all?”

Jisoo nodded affirmatively, making the black haired man perk up. Thank the heavens for Kim Jisoo. “With that cute blonde guy! I think his name was Hwa...something.”

“—Hyungwon, _fuck.”_ Bambam kicked a nearby chair, threading his fingers through his hair, “Can’t fuckin’ stand that guy.”

Hyungwon was one of Taehyung’s model friends he had the displeasure of meeting once or twice. Every time Tae hangs with him he comes home beyond fucking high, crying and swearing he won’t do it again—until his next free night roles around, or the next movie premiere. It was a cycle Bambam knew all too well.

The girl’s brows furrowed, a frown taking over her glitter covered features, “He was all over V… have you seen the guys?”

Bambam gave up on scanning the crowd, collapsing onto a nearby chair. “Not since an hour ago, I wasn’t even on deck…”

The two turned at the sound of regurgitating, spotting several people throwing up overboard. “Guess everyone’s a little seasick, huh?” Bambam remarked, shaking his head and empathizing with the people. Jisoo then adjusted her silver skirt, looking down at him with determination in her eyes. “I think i’m gonna go back in, try to find—”

Before she could even finish her sentence, the crowd started to yell and disperse, all eyes focused on one spot on the floor.

“Did someone else faint?” Bambam stood up to get a closer look and spotted someone on the floor shaking uncontrollably.

“Are they having a seizure?!” Jisoo put a hand to her mouth and looked to the younger with a terrified look before she took off to where all the action was, leaning down beside the person and asking people what happened.

Bambam on the other hand took the rare downtime time push through the crowd, looking for wherever Jackson could’ve been off to all that time. When he’d made it down the winding stairs, he saw people passed out on the marble counters and couches barely conscious of anything around them — as if they were drugged. _What the fuck is going on?_

Bambam heard heavy footsteps down the hall nearby, coming fast like they were running and he quickly hid himself behind the wall in the kitchen area to see the blonde he was looking for hastily approaching the winding stairs.

“Jackson!”

The blonde turned around, sighing in relief when he saw him. “Bambam, you okay?”

The younger ignored the question, “I don't know what the hell is goin’ on right now. Where were you?”

Jackson pulled out a water bottle from the nearby fridge, handing it to Bambam to drink so his stomach could settle, “I was just in the bathroom, I heard the commotion.”

Bambam took a few sips, looking around at the passed out people in the room when he heard crashing from the deck, followed by even more screams, “It’s gettin’ real fucked up now. I think people are fighting…”

They both heard more running down the halls, followed by familiar voices yelling orders. Jaebum and Hoseok were shouting into the walkie-talkie, guns out and in a zone Bambam didn't know they were supposed to be in.

“JB! J-Hope!”

The two men turned around, Hoseok nodding to JB with their wordless communication before he took off to the top deck.

“What’s happening?” Jackson said, his voice taking on a more serious tone than Bambam had ever heard it. Jaebum looked between them both before the youngest urged him on, “JB, c’mon.”

Jaebum rubbed his temples, giving in. “We’ve got a fucking problem,” he looked around before he came closer to the pair. “There’s someone - _multiple_ \- dangerous people on board causing all this bullshit.”

Bambam cursed to himself, “More dangerous than us?”

“Hopefully not,” The man ran a hand through his hair, placing both on his hips as he looked between them both, as if he had something else to say.

At that moment Hoseok and Jisoo came barrelling down the stairs. Jisoo looked nothing short of traumatized, making Bambam’s heart slam in his chest, while Hoseok’s eyes flickered all over the place before he looked at the trio.

“What’s going on?” Jaebum spat, grabbing Jisoo and holding her close when she began to cry in his arms, “What the hell? What happened?”

“The captain,” Hoseok swallowed, looking all around the room at the unconscious bodies, “He’s fuckin’—he’s fuckin’ _dead.”_

Jaebum, Jackson and Bambam took in a sharp breath, while Jisoo continued to sniffle, taking shaky breaths and trying her best to keep it together. She’d never seen anything like that before, even being affiliated with Black Lotus - that wasn't her position, neither was it Bambam’s, so he understood perfectly well. Jackson on the other hand kept surprisingly calm. After all this was settled, if they settled it, he would have to find out more about this _Jackson._

Out of them all, Jaebum recovered from shock quickly. “What’s the damage, Hope?”

“Slit in the jugular, he bled out all over the fucking console, fuck!” Hoseok banged his fist on the table, “Who the fuck let them on board?! How?!”

The assassin very rarely expressed any kind of distress, always known to keep calm and collected - but at that moment that was all Bambam could see on his face. Distress. Everybody figured then that they were _fucked._ Nobody knew what these guys wanted, where the hell they came from or what their end goal was. They had to find them before anything else got out of hand, and try to get this entire boat to Mexico on their _own._ It was a dream vacation that turned into a bonafide nightmare.

“Fuck this! I-I need to find V!”

“Bambam, wait—”

“No! I promised I wouldn't put him in the middle of this bullshit - now his fucking life is at risk!” Bambam pulled out his pistol, but Jaebum quickly disarmed him, twisting the gun out of his hands until it fell to the ground.

“What—what the hell are you doing?!” Bambam gritted out, Jaebum released him, shoving his body back into Jackson’s.

“What we’re not gonna do is _that!_ Take off without a plan while there's probably prices over each of our fucking heads!” Jaebum shouted, looking at each of them, “We need to come up with a gameplan and we need to do it _now.”_

As much as he wanted to say _fuck that_ —Jaebum was right. If he went in blind, there’s no telling what the hell he would run into. Bambam snatched himself from Jackson’s grasp, and Hoseok looked right at the blonde.

“Look man, this is about to get sticky. You're not apart of us but we need the extra hand,” Hoseok pulled out his gun and tossed it to Jackson, “You in or what?”

Jackson looked down at the pistol and at everyone else who was watching him closely, avoiding Bambam’s confused gaze. Then, speedier than ever he cocked the gun, shooting it beyond Hoseok’s head and at a target coming from the hallway dressed in all black with a ski-mask on.

“Oh, shit!”

Everyone ducked, Jisoo gasped, then let out a shocked laugh as Hoseok and JB quickly approached their first intruder—all because of Jackson. Bambam and Jisoo exchanged a mutually shocked look before she nudged him to follow the others.

“Guess that’s a yes.”

 

-

 

The new location of the official meeting point was a restaurant Mark’s dad and him frequented a lot when his father was in LA. It was located downtown, a 5 star stuffy ass establishment where they would go and discuss _everything_ Mark hated: School, leaving America, territory restrictions, their fucked up family - yeah, he knew the place. That was why Jinyoung let out a mean cackle as soon as he realized that was where they were going. It was Raymond Tuan’s _favorite_ spot to talk business and everyone knew that.

A security guard handed Mark his walkie through the window of the car before they went inside.

“Choi, come in.”

_“Yeah, Boss.”_

“How we doing?”

_“Lost contact—but as soon as I catch them again, you’ll know first.”_

Jimin shifted in his seat, “Lost contact?”

“Shh…” Jinyoung raised a finger, brows furrowed as Mark continued the conversation.

“We were an hour along before, correct? They should be there soon.”

_“Correct. I will notify you when they reach land and make the transaction.”_

“I know you will. Thanks Choi.”

Mark put up the walkie talkie, a confident smirk overtaking his features. “Sounds pretty good to me. Let’s head inside.”

As soon as the waiter heard his name, they were immediately led through the dimly lit restaurant, up the steps to the second floor that was separated off from the rest of the civilians, with every table around bare except for one. The one with Kim Yongsuk sitting at the table, cigar lit and waiting for them to arrive.

“There he is,” He smirks at their arrival, standing on his feet as they bow to each other politely, “How are you all this evening?”

Mark pulled out a seat for Jinyoung, Jimin taking one on the other side of him.

“We’re well. Though you gave us _quite_ the run around.” Mark started, sitting in his seat and waiting for the empty wine glass in front of him to be filled with the most expensive champagne in that place.

Yongsuk sent a sharp smile, “Didn't like Wonho? I think he’s pretty charming, no?”

Jimin discreetly rolled his eyes, “He’s somethin’ alright.”

Jinyoung sighed at Jimin’s remark, turning to Yongsuk with a smile that was the dictionary definition of charming. “Not as charming as me, but he definitely did his duty well enough.”

The man chuckled, “Park’s son… you’re probably right about that one.”

Mark felt himself tense up after he mentioned Jinyoung’s family, feeling a hand squeeze his thigh under the table from the former to try to calm him. Like Mark, Jinyoung was _also_ an heir to a family drug business. But unlike Mark, his family dealt with pharmaceutical drugs more than illegal.

Park Conglomerate owned several major drugstore chains across Korea, recently expanding and taking ownership of one spot in the Los Angeles area, with the help of the many connections they’d forged.

Jinyoung was a shoe-in, not only being the heir but being the best for the job. But he couldn't be _anything_ while in a relationship with Mark Tuan.

It was known between them that their parents didn't approve of the relationship, even if both businesses worked together from time to time.

Needless to say, they didn't give a shit. They started their own Dynasty, if you will,

“Let’s get to the point of this, shall we?” Mark was over the formalities, ready to get to bottom of this shit and jet. Jimin handed him the files he’s been asked to curate over the week, all of the information in it was as accurate as it could be. “My LA warehouses—they’ve all been raided, ramshacked, what have you. All of which started happening over the past several days consecutively.”

Mark flipped through the pages, sliding it across the table to Yongsuk. “I don’t like to point fingers as easily as my father and start a war, but Chongsa’s shipments have been business as usual—have they not?”

The older man looked at the papers closely, letting out a few hums here and there as he skimmed each page, “This is cute, huh. You did your research...too bad it’s all wrong.”

“Excuse you?”

Yongsuk looked up at Mark, drumming his ring covered fingers over the folder. “Have you thought to look at whether or not your father’s territories have been raided the same. Because _we_ have a deal, me and Raymond, that I never violated for very obvious reasons—”

“But you—”

“—I’ve heard nothing about this, Mark.”

Mark shook his head, “It doesn’t matter what you heard, it’s the truth of the matter. It’s on paper what you did, witnesses saw—and believe me, Yongsuk,  they tend to speak the hell up when their lives are at stake.”

Yongsuk took a drag of his cigar, looking the young heir up and down, “You know, I don’t get it with you and Raymond.”

“What’s not to get?” The brunette rose his brows, sipping his wine and urging the older to continue.

“There’s a disconnect,” Yongsuk pointed at him with his cigar, “You both—violent, cutthroat, no fuck’s. You’re not much different.”

Mark gave him a bitter smile. One thing he hated the most was being compared to his father. Once upon a time he took pride in that, but that ran out long ago.

“Oh, I care about a lot more things than he does, Mr. Kim. The fact you’re not talking to the barrel of my gun right now can attest to that fact.”

“Threats with a diamond smile...you're definitely your father’s son.” He chuckled, not even sparing a glance to both men at his sides giving him warning glares. The two men stared at each other in the eyes after that, both with challenging stares that neither dared to break, not until Jinyoung whispered something in Mark’s ear to bring up to Yongsuk.

“That’s right...you’re to meet my father in Seoul soon, aren’t you? Couple of old pals, I guess.”

Yongsuk smiled, looking between them all after a sip of his wine, “Now _that_ I can confirm. I’ll actually be leaving very soon.”

Mark took a deep breath, holding back a cough from the thick cuban cigar smoke coming from the air.

Yongsuk Kim was the dictionary definition of a mobster, he looked it, acted it, very unlike Mark’s father who tried so hard to deviate from it when everyone knew. Sure, Mark liked originality,  knew it was a ruse to distance himself from the feds, but Yongsuk was the real deal. He couldn't _not_ respect it. That and he felt like the older man respected him.

Another thing his father couldn't do.

“Okay, let’s say you _didn’t_ fuck with my product,” he tipped his head to the side, “You’re definitely not our only option. If you could narrow it down, who would _you_ think, Yongsuk? I want your honest opinion.”

Mark knew what kind of question he was asking. And by the looks Jimin and Jinyoung gave him, they also caught on. He didn't expect a straight answer, but he had one option in mind if it truly wasn't Chongsa. Plus he actually did want to know his opinion.

“One hell of a question considering who you are, Tuan.”

“This is one hell of an issue.”

Yongsuk smiled, “Of course it is—you were born with enemies. Like most people with power.”

“He’s not _most_ people.” Jinyoung spoke from beside Mark, earning a nod of agreement. Yongsuk lightly shrugged his shoulders, neither denying nor confirming a thing. Jimin on the other hand was watching Yongsuk closely the entire time, and he had an inference of his own.

Jimin was about to open his mouth and say it, but unfortunately the walkie talkie started going off from beside him, “Excuse me,” being quickly handed to him by the security as he got up to handle it.

“You probably had people following Wonho, ready to take him out before you got here, did you not?”

Yongsuk appraised Mark with a brand new cuban cigar all wrapped and intended for the young heir to have. Mark had no idea why he was giving gifts now, but he wouldn’t turn down a good cigar.

Mark took it, looking down at the packaging before he connected eyes with the leader. No use in lying to the man’s face. “Of course I did, just like you had people following me.”

 _“Wrong.”_ Yongsuk said, making the younger furrow his brows. “I have them waiting for you now in case this goes left.” He nodded his head to a table in the back. It surely was occupied by people he hadn’t even seen at first.

Mark rolled his eyes, a secret shine of admiration in his eyes when he looked upon the man, “You were ready. Snipers on the roof too, I bet.”

The older man let out an amused laugh, seeming to take a genuine joy in the fact they knew each other’s moves like the back of their hand.  

“I’ll tell you something, Tuan,” He started, his eyes looking past the man instead of straight at him, “Even being who you are—you’re thoroughly underestimated. Use that to your advantage, always.” He connected their gazes, pointing his cigar right at his face. “ _You’re_ the one in Los Angeles right now. So, follow your own gut.”

Mark smirked, taking the advice pretty easily along with a sip of his drink. After all, this was the only man who was able to keep his father on his toes without a police uniform on. A classic case of joining forces when fighting caused more casualties than it was worth. The peace between them was still fragile.

“I’ll be sure to do that, Mr. Kim. Your verdict on the rat?”

The man sat back, offering a small smile that told him more than he could grasp in that moment. “You’re a smart boy. You know what you need to do.”

That was the last thing Yongsuk said to him before Jimin came back to the table, eyes wild and cool demeanor shattered with the walkie talkie in a death clutch between his hands.

“Jimin...” Mark slowly looked away from Yongsuk, to the pink haired man, communicating for him to save it for later when he tried to continue the conversation.

Jinyoung nudged Jimin, who leaned in and whispered the problem. Mark felt a hand on his arm, and a deathly serious look on Jinyoung’s face. Yongsuk just raised his brows at them both, tipping his head to side.

“It’s time for us to go, Mr. Kim—thanks for your time.”

They all bowed to the man, turning to leave when he called out to Mark “Remember what I told you, Tuan!” receiving a nod from the heir as he ushered his partners outside of the restaurant. He wondered what Yongsuk really meant by what he was saying, because it seemed there was more to it than what was on the surface.

He didn’t have time to think about it now because was soon as they were far enough away, Mark turned to them. “What the hell is up?”

Jimin spat it out so quickly he could barely understand it, “Youngjae won't answer anymore, I kept tryin’ and tryin’ and—”

“Let me fucking see this,” Mark groaned, snatching the walkie from his small hands. “Choi, it’s me! Choi!”

The silence the answered back made Jinyoung curse, trying it himself to get the same white noise. Youngjae had multiple channels to reach them from if need be, and there was feedback from none.

“What do we do?”

“We go to him. He’s near the signal tower-”

“All the way out in the _desert,_ Mark.”

“So?! Get in the car, we’re going right now.”

They piled into the car, telling to driver to step on it as they took off the more remote parts outside of the city, where the weather got impossibly hotter and the ride got longer and longer. Mark made a quick call to Yoongi to tell him what was happening before they eventually made it to the tower.

The building beside it was where they knew for sure Youngjae was set up, so with no time wasted they jumped out of the car and yanking the heavy metal door open with weapons in hand. Youngjae was knocked out, on the ground unconscious with his walkie talkie smashed by his head.

“Fuck—Youngjae! Youngjae, wake up!” Jimin slapped the supplier around, hoping he would rouse awake and try to tell them what happened. Jinyoung found a bottle of water, opening it and splashing it on Youngjae’s face.

Mark was just furious at that point, seeing red at the fact someone actually had the _balls_ to come for not only him, but his most trusted supplier, and possibly ruin one of his biggest transactions yet.

_“Jinyoung!”_

“What?! At least he’s waking up now!”

Jimin groaned to the ceiling, grabbing both sides of Youngjae’s soaked face, “C’mon sunshine, you alright, babe?”

Mark was looking around the small area, noticing a small piece of paper stuck on the console.

“Guys, whoever it was left just us somethin’.” He pointed to it, and Jimin quickly directed them to the controls, telling them to turn the station on the listed digits on the paper. Youngjae was mumbling something barely intelligible as they listened carefully to the station, getting softly hushed by Jimin.

There was fuzzy noise, like static or something, then in the midst of it there were definitely screams of distress coming from so many people. It sounded like a complete nightmare—it was from the yacht. Right at that _very_ moment.

“Oh, God…” Jinyoung backed up from the control panel, rubbing his temples as the screaming began to get more and more intense. “Oh, _God…”_

“What the fuck?!” Jimin shouted to no one in particular, tears springing to his eyes at the thought of his boyfriend, his friends, all in danger.

“Wait—wait!” Mark clenched his jaw, putting his ear closer to the console when he heard clicking sounds through the noise. “No, no, no—”

 

-

 

Jisoo, Jaebum, Hoseok and Bambam all looked at Jackson in shock, and the blonde was just staring back with the pistol still in his hands. The bullet hit the wall above the intruders head, and the moment of hesitation allowed for Jaebum and Hoseok to tackle him to the ground.

“Your reflexes are crazy, dude,” Hoseok said, pressing his knee into the back of the intruder.

“It was nothin’, I missed. Adrenaline.” Jackson tucked the gun away, looking around for more possible intruders as they ripped the ski mask of this guy. He looked no older than the rest of them, but he certainly wasn't on the same side.

“The fuck do you want?!” Jaebum questioned the stranger, holding a knife to this throat while Hoseok held his head up.

“Get to deck! Try to get more of them - get as many as you can.”

“You mean kill them?” Jackson asked.

Hoseok looked back at him, “It’s either them or us.”

“What should I do?” Jisoo asked, Jaebum turned back, giving her a quick thoughtful look.

“Find someone who can steer a boat and get us to Mexico safe while we handle these guys,” she nodded looking at Jackson and Bambam before Hoseok shouted back at them again.

_“Now go!”_

They all split up once they hit the deck, Bambam’s heart was throbbing in his ears, his throat tightening when he saw the state of pandemonium the deck was in.

“I saw a blunt full of Spice left on the sink when I went to the bathroom—I can smell it now!” Jackson shouted, pulling Bambam along when he tripped over someone’s passed out body in the crowd. K2 or Spice was artificial cannabis filled with shredded herbs and random chemicals - aka nothing Black Lotus would circulate themselves.

“That fake shit—we saw someone have a seizure earlier, that was probably why!” Bambam felt his stomach disagree with all the movement he was doing, but he couldn’t stop now. Jackson grabbed his hand, leading him through the crowd until they made it to the other side.

“Have you seen any of em’ yet?” Bambam asked, taking in deep breaths and leaning onto the wall for support. The blonde shook his head, a defeated look overtaking his features as he overlooked the deck. He looked back at Bambam, biting the inside of his cheek, “No way...I think they’re gone from deck now.”

Bambam looked up to the sky, noticing how the stars dotted the sky, still and peaceful like the world wasn't falling apart right below it. It gave him a quick sense of solace in the midst of chaos. With the right moves they could get out of this, just like anything else.

“So what do we—”

_Boom!_

Sharp ringing filled his ears.

For a moment, the world went totally white. Bambam felt his feet leave the ground, before hitting his head against the deck so hard, he was sure someone shoved him. _What the hell was that?_

Everything was so quick, like snap of fingers, a switch. He called out for Jackson, or at least that’s what he felt he was doing with his mouth—maybe he was just screaming. From the ground he saw feet running past him, tripping over each other, falling in heaps, he didn’t need to see people's faces to know the terror because he felt it himself.

He felt a solid weight on top of him, and when he looked back he saw what had to be Jackson mouthing something that sounded muffled before he was suddenly scooped from the ground. When he looked around, he saw people jumping from deck into the water to escape the explosions. It was a sight he’d never forget.

The ground felt unsteady under his wobbling legs, but Bambam was only worried about one thing.

_“We—others!”_

His ears were ringing, but Bambam caught the gist of Jackson’s words. The blonde wanted to hurry up and connect with the others, but not Bambam. He had to find Taehyung first before anything else. Just thinking of his best friends frightened face made him struggle in Jackson’s arms, “Let go uh me!”

“Bambam, you’re hurt—”

“I don’t care!”

He thrashed and thrashed until he was finally let down, shoving through the crowd and screaming for his best friend’s name. He heard Jackson running along with him, but he couldn’t even register it. All he felt was raw _panic._ He banged on every room door he could, hollering at the top of his lungs until it hurt to say anything more.

_This was his fault. It was all his fault._

Jackson opened the door to a half bath at the end of the hallway, shouting for Bambam to come help him. The younger cried out when he saw his best friend passed out in the bathtub, all of his sopping wet clothes on, looking just as unconscious as the people in the living area.

There were pieces of rubble floating in the water, it was only a matter of time before the room collapsed on him. The sight made Bambam’s heart shatter. He had no idea how long Taehyung was like this (with no Hyungwon in sight). But for now, that was only half of the battle.

“Help me carry him!” Jackson shouted, helping Bambam get the tall man out of the tub when another loud, ear-splitting _Boom!_ shook the entire yacht.

The lights flickered in and out and the blonde ended up carrying Taehyung on his back as they ran through the dark, turbulent halls. It felt like a movie. The entire past year did, but especially now, it felt like this was the climax action scene — like there was a time stamp above their heads counting down to fuck know’s what. He could _die_ here. They all could.

But somehow, the trio made it back up the winding stairs, Taehyung starting to wake up and stir on Jackson’s back a bit from the sound of the commotion. He’d be in for a rude awakening.

_Boom!_

One side of the yacht started to sink down, making Bambam’s heart jump to his throat. Ashes were coming down from the air, the water surrounding them made a sizzling sound from the fire at the other end of the yacht. They didn’t have much time.

“There!” Jackson grabbed Bambam’s hand where he saw Hoseok and Jaebum across the deck getting a Dinghy for them, meeting Jisoo out on the water since they let her get on it first.

“Guys, c’mon!” Hoseok shouted at the trio, voice barely carrying over the screams of the crowd. “This thing’s gonna sink!”

Bambam urged Jackson and Taehyung ahead, looking behind at the all the people who weren’t as fortunate as them to find one of the multiple Dinghy’s around the yacht. Luckily, Jackson and Taehyung made it safely onto the small boat, joining Hoseok, Jaebum and Jisoo in urging Bambam to follow suit.

He stood on the edge of the deck, feeling the pressure in his chest at the deep black water all around him. Not only was he seasick, he wasn’t the best swimmer. He’d probably drown with the rest of these people.

_“Bambam, jump now!”_

He heard them yelling for him, but Bambam felt every limb in his body just freeze up, from his head to his toes. There was something warm dripping from his temple—probably his blood. _I can’t, I can’t, I can’t!_

“You can do this!” Jackson shouted out, as if responding to his thoughts. Bambam looked up through teary eyes to see the Dinghy floating farther away. Taehyung was still mostly unconscious in Jackson’s arms, head lolling from one side to the other. “I won’t let you drown!”

The youngest shut his eyes tight. He couldn’t just _not_ get out alive, not when Taehyung wasn’t back on land safe again, not when all of them were still in danger. He couldn’t do that to them.

So he jumped.

Bambam ran to the edge of the deck, holding his breath before he submerged himself in the Atlantic with one leap. He felt weightless, boundless, scared out of his _mind._ He managed to get his head above water for a second, feeling strong arms wrapping around him and pulling him to the surface indefinitely.

_Boom!_

All he saw was pitch black.

 

-

 

“The phone…” Jinyoung whispered, crowding onto the floor next to Jimin and Youngjae. Jimin was in shock, Youngjae looked devastated. Jinyoung was the only one remotely responsive, the tragedy making him want to immediately jump on whatever opportunity he could to fix this situation. He looked up at his boyfriend who was frozen still, eyes glazed over as he looked off at nothing. Jinyoung never saw him in that state before.

“Mark.”

“—I can see that!” Mark snapped, voice slightly trembling before he snatched the phone off the hook. He held the phone to his ear with a shaking hand.

“What.”

_“Did you like the show, son?”_

Of course. _Of fucking course._ Mark let out a manic, distressed shout, first banging his fist on the console, then taking his arm and knocking down everything on the surface, the loud crash making Youngjae groan.

“You fucking _monster.”_ Through gritted teeth he addressed his father, who only offered his classic ‘I Win’ chuckle on the other end of the line. God, he was sick.

“This is _war,_ son. I thought you understood what that entailed.”

“What the hell did everyone else have to do with it?! People are fucking i-injured or _dead—_ how could you?!”

“You’re right, they had nothing to do with it. It wasn't about them,” Mark just stayed silent. His hands were shaking uncontrollably to the point he had to put the phone down and press the speaker button.

“It was about the reason you threw this extravagant distraction of a cruise in the first place. The _millions_ in cash you had stored in the bottom deck. The money you were trading for product when you got to Mexico.”

Mark buried his head in his hands. His biggest transaction yet was _ruined_ and his crew were possibly fucking corpses in the ocean.

“Why the fuck do _you_ care about money? It’s all...it’s all gone now anyway. You blew it up!” A hysterical laugh from the elder made Jinyoung slowly stand on his feet, approaching his lover with caution, “It's at the bottom of the fucking ocean!”

His father responded easily. “That was the point.”

Jinyoung gently held his hand, but Mark pulled away. He picked up the phone again. “What do you want from me, huh? To go to Taiwan?! Listen to you?!”

His dad chuckled on the other side of the phone, “That would never happen. So, no. That’s the furthest thing from my mind.”

“Then _what?!_ You just wanna ruin me?!” Mark felt himself shrinking, all the confidence he had spent years to build felt fragile and futile now. He just wanted this to _end._

“I want you to finally be who I raised you to be, Tuan Yien.” Raymond started, ignoring the sounds of his distressed son on the other end of the line.

“I want you to retaliate.”


	6. ACT III PART TWO

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> part two came out to 21k so I split it, next part soon! enjoy it fam <3

**ACT III PART TWO: SHOW ME THE MONEY**

 

The sun had been beating down on the crew for hours as they floated in the tiny Dinghy, the waves rocked the boat all around, making Bambam’s seasickness impossibly worse as they journey continued on.

It was silent between the six of them, save for the sounds of Bambam regurgitating into the water and Jackson doing his best to comfort him. After the tragedy they had all witnessed, obviously, nobody was in the mood to speak.

The number one focus was getting to land safely and letting Mark know that no, they _didn't_ die in a boat explosion done by random assassins.

Taehyung was utterly confused by the entire event but was too afraid to ask about it, probably scared of the answer he would receive. In his eyes, it was just an innocent dream vacation gone terribly left.

Especially factoring in the part where he was coming down from an _ecstasy_ high the entire time it happened. Senses were heightened, time slowed - it was probably a _special_ kind of nightmare for the actor.

Bambam didn’t even know what to say. He was currently too _sick_ to say anything.

Hoseok and Jaebum, on the other hand, would talk amongst themselves, even in the small space the Dinghy provided they kept shit confidential. Jackson, ever so selfless Jackson, was focused on making sure everyone else was okay while looking pretty shell shocked himself.

Jisoo was in the middle space between Taehyung and Bambam, exchanging words of comfort to the redhead who wasn't in the best state after his violent comedown. Bambam thought the girl was strong, having seen her breakdown only once back on the yacht. Jaebum kept looking over at her and asking if she was alright, to which she would assure him and even send a small smile. Bambam just looked away then.

God, she was stronger than him. They all were.

And as strong as they were, it was fucking hard. The small space was cramped, everyone had their legs either uncomfortably squished against someone else's or totally lying on top of another's, but that only added to the general discomfort they all felt. Being hungry, dehydrated, exhausted...thinking back at what they just witnessed it was nothing to complain about.

At least they were alive.

After another hour or two of sailing, Hoseok nudged Jaebum and pointed out to the distance, making a delirious Bambam wanna jump for joy at the sight ahead.

_Land._

Finally, some solid fucking earth he could stand on, with clean water, beds, accommodations - shit, some damn _medicine._ Bambam grinned, most likely looking like a pained grimace when he pointed it out to Jackson, who sent him a soft smile back. Taehyung sat up, pointing it out to Jisoo who quickly verified it with Jaebum that yes, this was actually their destination. They finally made it to Mexico.

When the Dinghy arrived on the edge of the sand, the six took no time to climb out onto the beach. They probably were a sight for sore eyes, a rag-tag group in designer clothes pulling up in a survival boat, but there was no one there to witness it on the deserted beach.

“Where the hell are we?” Taehyung rasped out, the words being the only thing he said since they escaped the yacht. There were sounds of trucks and cars zipping past, confusing everyone until Jaebum turned around, pointing up the rocky hill that carried a highway at the very top.

From the exhausted looks everyone exchanged with each other, the youngest knew _exactly_ what the hell they were thinking.

Bambam shook his head defiantly, _“Hell no_ \- no fuckin’ way,” He started walking away from the group, slipping off his boots as he trudged through the sand, “There’s gotta be another way, ‘cus I ain't climbing no damn mountain! Adiós, amigos!”

“Bammie, stop,” Taehyung started, watching as the black haired boy made it about 10 steps before the final waves of sea sickness hit him again, making him throw up onto the sand.

With a sigh, Hoseok turned away from him to the group. “To answer your question, V… we don't exactly know for sure, but we know where we gotta be and it can't be too far from here.”

Jaebum added in after him, “Once we get up there we can hitch us a ride into town, get to a phone.”

“A phone?” Jackson questioned, to which Jisoo responded, “To tell Mark...I-I don't know how the hell we’re gonna do this, to be honest.”

“What’dya mean?” Taehyung furrowed his brows, tightening his bandanna around his head, “It ain’t his fault that… whatever happened, happened. Hopefully he won't feel guilty or nothin’.”

“V, it isn't about _guilt,”_ Jaebum was about to explain it to him, of course he was. Bambam felt dread course through his veins when he ran a hand over his face. He had to stop it.

“Just drop it, JB.”

“The fuck do you mean ‘drop it’?”

Bambam heard the tension in his voice and knew it was over then. Jackson had a hand on his shoulder, asking what was wrong under his breath before getting shoved off for the millionth time.

“Stop— _touchin’ me!_ I don't need you!” Bambam quickly snapped at the blonde, making Jackson back up with his hands up and everyone turn to him, confused.

Taehyung wasn't having it.

“Drop _what?_ What’s this about, JB? J-Hope? Shit, anybody?” The redhead crossed his arms, “Why does it feel like ya’ll know somethin’ I don’t? I’m tired of it!”

Jaebum rubbed his temples, “For fucks sake, no one told you?”

Hoseok looked exasperated, narrowing his eyes at Bambam, who he thought would tell best friend the reason they were on the yacht in the first place. Guess he thought wrong.

“Well V, if you come up with a clever way to tell our boss we lost millions in cash at sea and fucked up on a major deal, then by all fuckin’ means.”

Taehyung slightly chuckled, looking between the four. Jackson looked just as shocked, while Bambam was just staring at the sky, just hoping this moment wouldn't end the way he knew it would.

“It wasn’t just a cruise?”

It was hard to face Taehyung like this. His big eyes shone with sadness and confusion as he looked around, “This…this was one of Mark’s fucked up plans?”

“Nobody knew it was gonna end up like that, kid.” Jaebum said, his voice surprisingly taking on a softer tone at the sight of a gutted Taehyung.

“Bammie?” He turned to his best friend, who’s arms were crossed and eyes was were following the highway above them.

 _“What,_ Tae? What is it?”

“The fuck— _what?!_ You fuckin’ lied to me!” Taehyung stalked up to Bambam, pushing him back by his shoulders, “You knew I wanted nothin’ to do with that bullshit and you _still_ lied!”

They heard everyone else trying to mediate them, but it didn't do a thing. It had been a long time coming.

“I never wanted you to either...I _barely_ knew the deal myself!” The younger felt himself getting way too defensive, not liking the way it sounded - like Taehyung was blaming him for it all. “I don't even know why you _hate_ everything so much, you're completely fine with the money! You get to wear all the Gucci you want, don't you?!”

Taehyung pointed a finger in his face, his deep voice dropping even lower with timbers of anger. “It ain't about the damn money and you _know_ it, Bam.”

Jaebum cut in, stepping up to the two but not getting in between, “Alright, cut it out, already,”

“Then what, huh?” Bambam started, ignoring Jaebum to glare at the other, “Oh, right! The _drugs,”_ He saw the redhead’s face contort into rage but he just kept going, “That’s fucked up, Tae! You hate me sellin’ em but you just _love_ to fuckin’ do em’! You’re a goddamn _hypocrite-”_

Bambam was on the ground before could register a thing. He felt a sharp pain in his jaw, a bitter taste in his mouth that he knew was his own blood. He touched a shaky hand to his lip, hissing at the sharp pain. Taehyung busted his fucking _lip_ open.

“Did you just _punch_ _me?!”_ Bambam spat his blood out on the sand while Taehyung fumed, looking like he was two seconds from lunging at the younger and doing it again.

Everyone else was just shocked for a moment at the sight, not having seen the redhead express emotions that went beyond the range of contentment and neutral happiness.

The ‘V’ character they were familiar with was known for his everlasting and easygoing spirit, the semi-absent pretty boy down for anything. They had no idea of the _real_ Taehyung—the one that hated everything they stood for. He was an actor after all.

Maybe that was for the best. Fast beginnings make for even faster endings. They weren't meant to last.

“That’s what you wanna do?!”

Bambam charged at the redhead, feeling the impact of the blazing hot sand burning their skin when they hit the ground. If you told either of them _this_ is where they’d be a year ago, they would’ve laughed and took bets.

The best friends were all out brawling; yelling incoherent insults at each other while the other three just let them. They must have been too tired to break up a physical fight between the boys, or realized it was deeper than it looked.

Bambam was pinned underneath Taehyung’s weight, dodging increasingly sluggish punches when he was suddenly dragged off by an exhausted Kim Jisoo.

“I took you with me, got you out of that city—” Bambam shakily stood on his feet, feeling weaker and weaker, “And _this_ is what the fuck I get from you, Taehyung?! This is how you thank me?!”

Jisoo had a ticked-off Taehyung by the shoulders, trying to guide him away from Bambam. “You want me to _thank_ you?! All you care about is _money!_ You’re fuckin’ miserable, you know that!”

Miserable. _Yeah, right_. He was far from fucking miserable—he was so close to having everything he wanted! How could Bambam be miserable?

The black haired man let out a wretched laugh, “I’m fine! I got everything I fuckin’ want. Mark gave it to me and I’ll get it myself. I’m a goddamn _winner,_ Hollywood. That’s the difference between me and you.”

Bambam thought he won the argument, but he didn't feel like a winner. All he felt inside was...numb.

When he saw Taehyung’s angry face, knowing inside he was hurt and he was the one who caused it—he just felt numb. Empty. He swallowed past a lump in his throat, collapsing back down to the sand, his limbs exhausted from just... _everything._

He shut his eyes momentarily, almost missing Taehyung’s last words.

“Wayne’s dead. Trip too.”

_…What?_

Bambam’s eyes flew open. Time seemed to pause, even the ocean seemed still in that moment.

_What the hell did he just say?_

“You don’t care about that though, I know.”

Taehyung said, everyone stiffened around them except Jackson and Jisoo, who were obviously confused. The fact Hoseok and Jaebum weren’t confirmed something deep inside of the youngest that he wasn’t ready to come to terms with. He felt his body lock up, his jaw tense, teeth grinding.

With a quick breath—denial was easier.

“You’re a liar.”

Of course Taehyung was lying. He was trying to shock Bambam into seeing his prude point of view, keeping him bored, a struggling artist fucking for rent in Manhattan with nothing better to do. A wannabe model. A stupid, naive, broke _teenager._ That’s not who he was anymore.

“Keep tellin’ yourself that, gorgeous…you might just start believin’ it. Just like you believe in _Mark_ when he spouts his bullshit about how you’re so _great_ …you really fuckin’ eat his shit, don’t you—”

Bambam snapped at the mention of the leader.

“Shut the fuck up, Taehyung!”

“You _both_ shut the fuck up!” Jaebum boomed, snatching Bambam up by his collar and Taehyung by his. “We gotta get the fuck outta here, nobody’s got time for your damn _drama!”_

He shoved them both down at once, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

The argument was over.

Jisoo carefully walked over to Jaebum, speaking lowly with a hand on his back while Hoseok stared at the two boys on the ground with a pitiful expression and a shake of his head, mumbling something about needing a smoke. Bambam couldn't agree more.

As for Jackson—Bambam didn’t look at him. For some reason that was hard to do, especially now.

“C’mon, get off the ground, huh,” Jackson helped the youngest off the sand, trying to make eye contact with him, anything to confirm all the horrible things Taehyung said about him weren’t true.

_But what if they were?_

Jackson shouldn’t care. He’s not here to like Bambam, he’s here for information. Wayne and Tripp. Those two names were what he needed to focus on. Yet, here he was at a loss on what to do, how to get Bambam to stop running from him.

Why did he _care_ so damn much?

Hoseok’s voice ripped him out of his stupor. “Hope ya’ll are ready to hike. We gotta get up there before it gets dark.”

The six were awkwardly silent, sweating buckets in the sun and staring at the mountainscape ahead of them. It was… _possible._ Difficult, but it was possible. This was better than washing up on a commercial resort and being asked for ID. Getting busted.

“I um…” Jisoo started, gesturing to her red cropped shirt and constricting silver skirt. Bambam suddenly felt a lot of pity for her, having to be in such an uncomfortable outfit that entire time. How she ran for her life in a skirt and heeled boots was beyond the five men’s comprehension.

“I can’t hike in this outfit… unless you want me to like, flash you guys.”

Jaebum cut in so quickly it was comical, glaring at everyone like he was two seconds from pulling his pistol.

 _“Definitely_ the fuck not.”

Jackson cackled then, a very _loud_ and hyena like cackle that no one was prepared for. After a flinch, Jisoo even cracked a smirk at the sound. Hoseok was joining everyone else who was looking at him like he was crazy until a few more stray, deep, giggles made the cut, suddenly becoming an all out laugh fest between the distressed six.

Well, all six except for Bambam and Taehyung, of course.

“Well, okay…” Jisoo looked between the guys, “Someone trade outfits with me then. JB, you said you liked this skirt on me, didn't you?”

Jaebum glared, but his cheeks tinged a light shade of pink that made Hoseok cackle. “That won’t be necessary.”

Before anyone knew it, Jisoo had a sturdy pair of Bermuda shorts - courtesy of a bystander who _just_ so happened to be jogging the beach. Jaebum wasn't a man you could easily refuse, thus there was now a man walking Mexican soil with Jisoo’s favorite sequin skirt on instead. It wasn’t like he could exactly _refuse_ Jaebum when they guy looked like he’d tear you a new asshole if you blinked wrong.

They started their ascent quickly, Hoseok telling Jackson to start first since they needed to test the sturdiness of the rocks. It’s really because Jackson, in Hoseok’s words _‘wasn’t really crew anyway’_ which meant so if an injury came no one would care — much to the blonde’s disagreement.

After a couple scary slips that made Bambam have to look away, Jackson caught his footing and was well on his way to the top. He turned, smiling down to the others like the hike was nothing but an additional activity to a vacay.

“The view’s nice up here guys!”

“Yeah, yeah…” Jaebum rolled his eyes, not taking his eyes of Jisoo who started to climb after him, “Don’t bust your damn head open.”

Bambam guessed he was talking to both of them.

Soon each of them were climbing, hissing at the feeling of the hot rocks underneath their hands, muttering curse words to themselves.

It was mostly quiet. Felt like everyone was just trying to get it over with, but there was an extra tense layer over it all that let Bambam know their only concern now was survival and getting back home.

All he knew was if this was supposed to be a sequel to the previous 24 hours of this trip - it damn sure wouldn't be easy.

Taehyung was following Hoseok, doing surprisingly well on the physical front. He looked weak, probably dehydrated - _who wasn't?_ \- but was making good progress. Bambam, on the other hand, thought it would be by the grace of above if he made it without a scratch. His shoes were definitely fucking ruined.

Eventually, Jackson made it first, swinging his body up over the railing of the highway as he waited for the others, shouting down words of encouragement that were met with grunts and mumbles. Soon after, Jisoo was being pulled up, helped by Jaebum. Hoseok, Taehyung, and Bambam were the last ones to make it.

Being a hitchhiker was something Bambam had never done.

Being a hitchhiker in _Mexico,_ standing on the side of the highway, jutting his decorated jewelry-laden hand out for rides - that was something he never thought he’d be doing in his life. But, here he was, and here they were doing just that.

It was taking longer than it would’ve, considering they're not the first image that pops into your mind when you think of hitchhikers - but that was probably why.

They _did_ get several offers from the strategy of placing Jisoo in front, but they got all kinds of bad vibes from those guys. Drug charges were enough as it was, manslaughter would just be pushing it - even _with_ a professional hit-guy in their clique.

There would be no turning back if someone tried some crazy shit.

Bambam groaned, kicking a nearby beer can, “Gettin’ a cab in New York is easier than this!”

“Shit, I believe you.” Hoseok agreed, leaning against the rail.

They switched methods. Taehyung was now in the front since he was the _next prettiest after Jisoo_ \- according to himself. They were too tired to argue it, Bambam wasn't talking to him, and if that was thunder he just heard in the distance he was _seriously_ going to lose it.

But in the end, it was none of the self-proclaimed pretty boys that got them the ride (Taehyung and Bambam) but actually their very own Im Jaebum.

Come to think of it, they _really_ should’ve seen that one coming.

Bambam thanked the gods when a red pickup took pity and stopped in front them. Shit, he was willing to hop in the car with Freddy Krueger to get the fuck out of the heat at that point.

In the car was a young girl about their age and a guy blasting music they’d hear on their own radio with joints in their mouths. They asked where they were headed - in spanish, of course.

The girl looked pleasantly surprised when Jaebum responded smoothly as ever in their language, looking to the guy in the driver's seat before motioning with her hand. They all stepped up, but she pointed at Jaebum specifically, having the rest hang back.

“Why him?” Jisoo said under her breath, watching the exchange closely. Hoseok hid a chuckle behind his hand when he saw Jaebum charming the hell out of them both, pulling a bill out of his wallet - that was still somehow intact after everything, and holding it between his fingers.

“Think you can get me and my friends to the city?”

Hoseok whistled, earning a discreet middle finger from Jaebum that made him cackle. He saw them deliberating, the guy nodding to Jackson and Hoseok and making hand expressive motions with his blunt. Bambam didn’t understand the language fully, so he was just watching and hoping.

And hope must have been on their side because Jaebum turned to the crew with a shit eating grin on.

“Hop in, guys! Got us got a ride _and_ a party to attend later.”

All six of them cheered, mixtures of _‘gracias’_ and ‘fuckin’ finally’ between them as they got into the back of the truck.

 _“Wow,”_ Jackson said, looking at them all, “We might get all the way back to Cali if JB keeps that shit up.”

“He may not make it back to town if he keeps it up,” Jisoo mumbled, which egged Jackson and Hoseok onto their whistling and howling as they jostled her and Jaebum around to tease them.

In an hour or two, the six of them were knocked out cold, obviously exhausted physically and emotionally from the day. They were all piled up in the large bed of the truck, only to be viciously woken up by potholes in the streets and loud music playing from the store fronts.

And yes, it did end up raining.

Bambam peeked his head up from where it was laid (somehow on Jackson’s lap) and did his best to cover himself with his jacket, taking in the scenery around him. Even in the rain, it was a sight to see. Palm trees reaching high, the smell of street food, the beautiful people. If the circumstances weren't so fucked up he might've enjoyed this.

The truck came to a halt in front of a small motel, making everyone side eye Jaebum and Hoseok.

The last thing any of them wanted to do was stay in a damn roach motel after the bullshit they went through. But when Bambam inquired about it, a snappy Hoseok responded, “We’re tryin’ to keep a low pro and stay off the books. And unless ya’ll have resort money,” He hopped out of the truck, tapping the side of the bed to get them out, “- keep your mouth shut.”

And that was that.

Jaebum and Hoseok pulled out their cash, talking to the front desk and getting them their rooms.

“Okay guys, two rooms, three in each, no need to get fancy—”

“No.”

Taehyung had done a good job and kept his mouth shut until they got to the front desk, but the room situation was where he _had_ to put his foot down, apparently.

Bambam knew it was because of him.

What else could it be? Hoseok, Jaebum, and Jisoo would be in one room, leaving Taehyung with Bambam and Jackson.

“...No? What the fuck do you mean no?” Jaebum narrowed his eyes at the redhead. Hoseok just groaned, “Don’t be childish, V. It’s just one night.”

“I ain’t stayin' nowhere I don't wanna stay and that’s that. I need a separate room.” Taehyung insisted, crossing his arms while Bambam let out a humorless chuckle. He was resolute, void of emotion like he was simply doing what was right. Like being away from Bambam was the best thing for him.

It hurt, he wasn't gonna lie.

“I call you Hollywood as a joke but you’re really actin’ it right now.” The raven haired man clenched his jaw, paying special attention to the way Taehyung ignored him as if he didn't speak at all.

The receptionist woman just kept smiling at them like they weren't wasting a lick of her time. Happy to have service at all, they guessed.

“Look, V. If you got the cash you can stay at the fuckin’ Ritz for all I care, just don't be difficult right now.”

Taehyung quickly started to unclasp the moon necklace around his neck, making Bambam swiftly step up to him, “I got it.”

“Tae, what the fuck?!” Bambam blurted out, watching him drop the friendship necklace he bought for them both onto the desk like it was nothing. “What the hell- you fuckin’ kiddin’ me?”

“This should cover it, right?”

They all watched as the receptionist lifted the necklace up, giving him the room key shortly after eyeballing the _clearly_ valuable jewelry glistening in her hand. This wasn't about the fucking room anymore. Taehyung was done with him and that was the proof.

He’d given it to him the morning after Bambam’s birthday, right after they arrived at the new penthouse. It was custom made at the same place Mark got his Rolex’s engraved - cost a damn fortune to get and it _meant_ even more.

At least Bambam thought it did.

“V, wait up!” Jisoo called out, starting to go after him when Jaebum put a hand on her shoulder. She tried calling out to him again but the redhead stopped at the door, “I just wanna be alone for a while.”

“Wait, the party…” Jackson tried, but Taehyung shrugged him off. “I ain't in the mood,” He briefly looked over at Bambam before he continued out the door in the pouring rain. “Give em’ my best!”

Bambam felt sick when Taehyung left, immediately taking the room key and leaving the four to watch him storm off. Jackson wanted to take off after him, but he didn't want to risk upsetting him even more.

“I never saw V… _mad_ before. He's usually always happy ‘bout somethin’.” Hoseok had said, followed by Jisoo who added: “I never even saw those two fight.”

Jaebum took his room key, swirling it around his fingers with a sigh.

“Guess there's a first for everything on this trip. Let's get settled.”

 

-

 

Bambam was sat on the balcony of the room, showered and changed, doing the poorest job of keeping dry from the rain. He couldn't nap one bit like the others probably were. Didn't _want_ to, couldn't if he tried. All the sleep he did get was purely from exhaustion.

Jackson was in the shower, Bambam had a cigarette, blowing the smoke out into the humid night air. It was a bad habit, but he hadn't even smoked that much since he got to California and started working. By the way his life was headed at the moment, he’d be dead _long_ before any cigarette could do the job. He’s just lending a helping hand to the process.

The morbid thought made him giggle, drawing attention to himself from a wet Blonde coming out of the shower just behind him.

“What’s so funny, huh?”

Bambam turned around in the lounge chair, staring at the other man through the glass double doors as he walked up to him. The white towel was wrapped around his waist, his blonde hair soaked, water droplets cascading down his…

Whatever.

Bambam scoffed, reluctantly turning back around to his beautiful ‘view’ of the storm brewing over the swimming pool below. It was all perspective, anyway.

“Put some damn clothes on and I'll humor you.”

“Yeah, right,” Jackson said, taking the cigarette from Bambam’s fingers and putting it between his own lips. He looked away again. “I should just flash the whole damn place—startin’ with you.”

“Maybe you should,” Bambam chuckled, getting up and walking through the doors, mentally praising himself for not sparing a glance to Jackson’s naked form as he sprawled out on the bed.

 _Damn, it was hot._ He stared at the ceiling fan above him, cursing it for how slow it was going in the room.

“I wouldn't really mind. Sure would lift a few spirits...and a few _other things.”_

Faster than possible, a pillow slammed into Bambam’s face. It made him pout, too lazy to remove it. But eventually, he did… and fuck. That was his biggest mistake thus far.

Jackson had dropped the towel. He was completely, _fully_ butt-naked, rummaging through some plastic bags for some new clothes he picked up downstairs. Bambam’s breath hitched at the sight, holding in a groan as his eyes traveled all over him. God, that _body._ Bambam couldn’t fucking _stand it._ Especially now that the man had a tan from being out in the sun until now?

It was torture of the highest degree — Hoseok and Jaebum couldn't reach that level with their worst enemies.

 _“Ugh.”_ He buried his face into the sheets in the opposite direction, missing Jackson’s smirk as he looked over at the younger.

He needed a distraction. There was a weird, outdoorsy painting on the opposite wall, the sight of it making him think of a certain redhead before he grabbed for the television remote in the middle of the king bed.

Some Spanish novella was on. The lady in it had just burned all of her ex-husband's stuff, threatening the maid with a pair of shears. Bambam let out a short laugh. _Taehyung would love this. It’s so damn dramatic._

Bambam frowned at the intrusive thought. He didn't even notice how his finger jammed into the remote again and again, flipping through every image he could before the remote was suddenly ripped from his hands.

It was stopped on an infomercial for a frying pan.

“I was watchin’ that...”

“Liar.”

Bambam cringed and turned to the blonde, glaring as he lazily reached up for the remote. Jackson threw it across the room on the other bed — the one he was _supposed_ to be in.

“Cold, miserable,” Bambam stared at the ceiling, balancing a throw pillow on his feet, “Greedy, _vain_ —quite the rap sheet, huh?”

There was silence. The sound of the tv shutting off, a shift of the bed in the spot beside him.

Bambam was holding his breath and didn't know why. He just didn’t, because really...why _care_ if Jackson thought he was good or not? He was just an acquaintance like the rest of them, Mark’s new boytoy—and Bambam would know.

Mark will get tired of him, and Jackson will be a stranger again.

“Yeah, V said a lot of things,” Jackson’s voice was calm and leveled, cautious like the other would _snap_ at him any moment. “But none of it matters to me. Ain't really none of my business, anyway.”

Bambam starred at the blank tv screen, the reflection of them both together on the bed catching his eye. He looked away.

“What if he was right? You sayin’ you still wouldn't care?”

“Never said I don’t care, I’m just saying it won’t change anything for me,” Jackson nudged him, big brown eyes boring into his own. “I’m still sittin’ here with you, talking to you ‘cause I wanna, right?”

There was a stretch of silence after that. Neither side knew how to continue from that point. Bambam bit his lip, looking away from him.

“You’re so weird.”

Jackson looked down at the younger, turning his body to face him the exact same way. Bambam’s face was bare of makeup, hair devoid of the usual product. Fuck, he was plain _beautiful_ that way. Jackson had to stare at the bed linens to keep from staring at him and creeping him out - he already thought he was weird.

 _“I’m_ weird?”

“Yeah, you are.”

Bambam wrinkled his face up, hating how childish he sounded before he laid his head flat on the cold pillow. He didn't know why, but he started to feel more at peace in their silence. With Jackson, just sitting there doing nothing, it was the most stagnant Bambam had been for months. The calmest.

In a few moments, Jackson was shuffling again, digging around in his pocket before he called out to the younger.

“What?”

“Look.”

When Bambam dragged his drowsy eyes up, he almost gasped at what he saw. A very _familiar_ moon pendant necklace dangling between his fingers. He stayed silent, looking to the blonde desperately for an explanation.

“It’s a wonder what sweet words and a couple dollars will get you, isn’t it?” Jackson sighed, looking at the silver chain sparkling in his hands. “It’s a nice little piece, though.”

The blonde swirled it around his index, opening his mouth to offer it back to the other, or at least get a ‘thanks’. All he got was the view of Bambam’s back when he sat on the edge of the bed.

“Bambam?”

His shoulders were hunched, the weakness in his body starting to take over. His throat felt tight. He didn't want to see that necklace. If Taehyung didn't want it then it meant nothing to him anymore.

“Just...put it away. Please.”

That definitely wasn't the reaction he expected. Jackson’s mouth hung open, trying to find the words to say, to take it back, when Bambam spoke up before him.

“He’s right, you know?” The black haired man swallowed a lump in his throat. Jackson carefully stood to his feet, coming around to Bambam’s side of the bed. “A-About me...he knows me better than _I know me,_ Jackson. I fucked up... _I’m_ just f-fucked up.”

Bambam looked at the painting again, glaring at it. He wrung his hands together, starting to rock in place on the creaky bed. The walls felt like they were closing in and he wish they’d hurry up and crush him already.

“We made it, but I don't feel anything. I don't feel lucky, I-I’m just…” Bambam leaned all the way forwards, gripping his hair in his hands. The cracking sounds, the ringing in his ears - he felt it all rushing back like a tidal wave. “I don’t know! Y-You don’t get it...before all this I was nothing _\- a nobody!”_

Jackson felt a pang in his chest at when he saw the younger's eyes wander when he popped back up, how his face crumpled in pain. He was breaking down. Blaming himself for everything that had happened. Jackson didn't know very much about the man in front of him, but he found it very hard to believe the charismatic being sitting there was ever a ‘nobody’. He looked like he was _meant_ to be something, meant to leave a mark on people no matter what.

“Tae is all I got _,_ okay! I just wanted somethin’ f-for myself, somethin’ I could k-keep, you know…”

Bambam didn’t know when Jackson made it on his knees in front of him, holding his shoulders and telling him to breathe with him. He didn't know when Jackson’s hands made it to his own, rubbing them in small circles until he stopped twisting them around.

He didn't know when his eyes started tracing the features on Jackson’s face, burning to memory how the shadows contoured his high cheekbones. How his eyes sparkled so ridiculously, like some cartoon. How his thick brows pinched together when he was concerned. His lips - how pink, pretty, and moist they were all the time.

Bambam didn't notice how his own breath started to stabilize, how one of his hands left Jackson’s but took purchase to the nape of his neck instead.

For the first time ever, he didn't know what his next move was going to be.

“When I jumped in that ocean… i-i was so fuckin’ _scared,_ you know?” He felt his eyes welling up thinking about how his body felt hitting the cold, bottomless surface. “But you were there… and-and that just made me _think_. Everything’s gone to Hell and then there’s you.” Bambam mumbled that part more to himself than anything. “Maybe you were meant to be here, huh. Destiny's cool. But fate is a little scary.”

Jackson chuckled a little at the younger’s ramblings. He seemed to master cynicism and naivety at once, and it threw him for a loop he couldn't get off of. “You believe in all that? Fate?”

“Of course. Never had anything else to believe in.” Bambam blurted, tsking at his blunt honesty with the _new guy._ He hates the way Jackson makes him act out of character.

_But he's different. Special. I just hope I ain't wrong about him… I’ve made enough mistakes._

Jackson’s thumb quickly wiped away leftover tears from Bambam’s face, giving him a small smile after he saw his pink tinged cheeks. The blonde leaned his head back into his touch when he massaged the nape of his neck. He felt his cheeks burn at the sight.

_No wonder Mark likes him so much._

Bambam snatched his hand away like he was burned. He’s so damn _stupid._ Jackson wasn't his friend, he wasn't anything to him. He wasn't _here_ for Bambam.

He should just leave this now. Before he fucked himself over even more.

“Stop it,” Jackson said lowly, the younger freezing beneath his touch. Bambam felt so lithe, so fragile in his hands like he could break. “Stop it. Stop pulling away from me, just…” He licked his lips and trailed his fingers through Bambam’s hair, satisfaction coursing through his veins like a drug. His hair was as soft as he imagined it would be, the opposite of how he presented. He wanted to know everything there was to know about him.

“I’m here now. So let me.”

Bambam didn't know what it was when Jackson said that, but as soon as he did he nodded like it was second nature. His hands found purchase on the bottom of his tee, tugging until it came up and over his body, tossed out of sight. _God and Mark, have mercy on him for this one._

“This is stupid…” Bambam babbled, backing up onto the bed as the blonde towered above him, staring down at him like he was the last man on the fucking planet. “You know that right?” He panted, heart rising in his throat when Jackson carefully caressed the side of his face. He handled him like he was precious when he was far from that.

Jackson just hovered over him, crushing their lips together so softly and hesitantly, like they were teenagers playing Spin The Bottle for the first time. Bambam whined at that and deepened the kiss immediately, making Jackson-

“Did you just - _giggle_ into my mouth?” Bambam asked incredulously, throwing his head back to laugh, a soft moan escaping when he felt warm lips trailing his neck.

“Stupid’s fun, just go with it.” Jackson panted, winded as fuck for what little they did. Bambam dragged him down onto the bed, running his hands over his stupidly toned arms. He shuddered under the younger’s touch, goosebumps rising all over his skin. The simple fact he had even had that _effect_ on Jackson made Bambam stir under his weight, twisting and arching his body, grinding up onto the other in a haste. He wanted him - just for tonight he _wanted him. Wanted_ _this._

It was a beautiful sight, watching the younger become undone under him - _because_ of him. His plump lips separated, tiny little moans coming out between pants of breath that made the blonde’s eyes darken as he stared on, committing the sounds, the sight, everything about it to memory.

Even with his inflated ego, Bambam was two seconds from begging.

Jackson, in his eager arousal, bit onto his bottom lip, tasting the blood from the recently busted wound, _“M-sorry-”_ the younger hissed in response but connected their lips again like he felt nothing. It was easier that way.

There was something completely different about kissing Jackson, innocent but filthy at the same fucking time - it drove Bambam _nuts._ He was addicted to it, too far gone to stop and think.

They started to make out again, becoming more and more feverish, crushing their bodies against each other until Bambam accidentally rolled onto the remote, causing the TV to pop on and blast at full volume.

_“Shit!”_

Bambam’s sudden shaken demeanor made the blonde cackle at the other after stealing a quick peck on his lips. He was completely fine at guns and fights, but a loud TV was another story. Cute.

“Yeah, those non-stick pans really fuck me up too.”

“That’s _still_ on? Jesus...” Bambam turned to the tv for a moment, then quickly back at Jackson, only just then catching his snide remark, “Shut up, _Honey Thighs.”_

_“Don’t you dare-”_

A loud slap rang out, followed by a pain-filled groan. Bambam’s hands left the other man’s thighs with a shit eating grin, screeching for help as he rolled off the bed and out of the others reach.

Jackson chased him down, quickly catching him and slinging him onto the bed like a rag doll.

“What you gonna do to me, babe?” Bambam sprawled out on the bed, a playful smirk on his face.

“M’not even naked,” Jackson’s breathing was still heavy, but it ceased when the raven haired man turned his back to him, “Yet…” He crossing his arms in front of himself to lift his shirt, slowly, back dimples on display.

But of course, there was another interruption for the two. This time it came in the form of hard ass knocking on the door.

“Fucking shit-” Jackson groaned, narrowed his eyes at the younger who giggled at him before looking through the peep hole. He hummed, throwing open the door to four of their crew who were dressed and pregaming with beers in hand.

“Precopeo, motherfuckers!”

He guessed _that_ meant pregaming.

Jisoo raised her brows at a shirtless Jackson, shaking her head in amusement. Hoseok whistled, and Jaebum sighed like he expected nothing different from the two.

“We came to get ya’ll… but if you’re _busy-”_

“We ain’t busy, what's up?!” Bambam shouted from the back, bounding up to Jackson with an arm on his shoulder, not noticing how the blonde cheeks were dusted with pink at the action.

“Uh, the party, remember? The people that drove us invited us down - it's here.” Hoseok said, earning a gasp from Jackson who quickly dashed around the room for his shirt, making the four bust out laughing.

“On the floor by the bed,” Bambam called out, turning back to the others with a grin. “I’m ready to blow some steam and try the beer. We’ll definitely meet you down there.”

They agreed, three of them walking away except Jaebum. He looked at Bambam, eyes traveling to Jackson and back to him. He sighed again.

“Don't do anything stupid, alright?”

Too late.

“I’m good, _Hyung._ Everything’s fine.” The younger threw in an honorific for good measure, earning an eyeroll as approval and a nod.

The door finally closed, and Bambam leaned against it letting out a deep breath. Jackson was staring at him from across the room, shifting on his feet like he had something to say. Well, he shouldn’t say a thing until he took care of that boner showing through his pants.

The younger inwardly groaned anyway.

“We gonna talk about it?”

“-’bout what?”

Jackson gave him a deadpan look, Bambam crossed his arms with a sigh. They probably should talk that out eventually. But...eventually was equivalent to _no time soon_ in his book.

“Fine. After.” Bambam turned around on his heel, starting out of the door. He grabbed the doorknob, looking over his shoulder with a winning smile that made Jackson weak at the knees.

“You said you were here for me now, right?”

The blonde nodded so fast, so sincerely, it took a second for Bambam to process. He didn't trust people much, didn't get too attached, because they always ended up fucking up or leaving one way or another.

But Jackson… stupid fucking _Jackson._ He makes everything so damn… backwards. Bambam can't decide if he likes it or not.

“Then get drunk with me, Honey Thighs...make me forget for a while...both of us.” His voice was fragile again, his smile wavering before he placed it back on as his usual cocky smirk.

 _‘He’s still underaged, just a year shy of drinking age’_ a voice in the back of Jackson's head reminded him.

But Bambam surely wasn't a child, not with the way he was looking at Jackson right now, not with the way he was moaning for him earlier.

“Think you can do that for me?”

Rationale told him alcohol wasn't the way to cope with everything they just experienced - everything the younger exposed to him. But to hell with rationality tonight. Everyone copes somehow and nobody's perfect (even _if_ he thought Bambam was damn near close to it on the outside).

The blonde smirked, moving across the room to his side. “How else do people cope in this world?”

“Awesome,” Bambam grabbed his hand, pulling him along with a childishly free laugh that almost negated his earlier point, but it made him relax.

It also made him think.

Jackson had ditched his wire to protect himself when the yacht sank, anyway. He had a good enough memory and truthfully, he _deserved_ a drink or two after what he’s been through. He deserved this moment, he told himself. Just one night.

“Let’s do it.”

And he would take it.

 

-

 

The taste of rich beer on Bambam’s tongue made him shiver with pleasure, shoving the bottle in Jackson’s chest while he chased after the food table for the millionth time.

The music was loud, the drums and guitar thrumming into his veins, making his insides vibrate with euphoria. Drinks were flowing nonstop - just like the guests. It almost seemed like random people were coming from the streets to drop by the party, whether it be for the food and drinks, or the company.

Bambam was definitely here for the first two.

After popping a mango cube with chili powder into his mouth, he stared at the dance floor to spot his friends, seeing Jisoo throwing her head back to laugh while the couple that invited them showed her and Jaebum a dance involving a lot of hip and footwork, and space thinner than a magazine between them.

Hoseok was dancing like he owned the place, a blissfully buzzed gait to his steps, twirling different women around with a drink in his hand he never let go of. At least they all seemed to be happy.

“Dance with me,” A familiar voice whispered into his ear from behind, grabbing him by his waist and leading him to the floor in a rhythmic stupor that made Bambam giggle.

“Didn't know you were such a good dancer, Honey Thighs.” The younger complimented him loudly over the music, taking his bottom lip into his mouth when he felt Jackson’s hands fall to his hips, guiding him along with the beat.

“There’s a lot you don't know about me, Bam.”

“I don’t doubt that for a second.”

They felt eyes on them from the people sitting down at tables around them, the attention making him pull Jackson by the collar and connect their foreheads as they swayed together.

His gaze fell to the blonde’s lips, only a beat of hesitation between them before they crushed their lips together. Bambam could’ve sworn he beard Hoseok’s signature whistle from somewhere behind, the thought making him grin against the other's lips. _Nosy fucking bastards._

“Let’s go somewhere.” Jackson seemed to read his mind when he lead Bambam away from on looking eyes, ushering the other out of some side doors and out to the deck where the pool was. A cool breeze hit them both, but it did nothing to remedy the drops of sweat falling down the blonde’s chest that Bambam’s eyes couldn't help but trace. The moon shone brightly above them, the music still audible from the outside, Bambam’s body was warm from the shots he took.

He felt his back being pressed against a hard concrete surface, hips almost fully circled by strong hands, letting out a broken sigh when he felt biting and sucking at his neck. Bambam’s hands grabbed hearty handfuls Jackson's ass in return, squeezing hard and receiving a defiant groan.

“You don't like it when it’s you, huh?” Bambam quipped, a playful smirk on his face before he slid his hands back in Jackson’s pockets, grabbing his pack of cigarettes with a satisfied hum.

“I don't do it all that much, but I always carry one on me.” The blonde explained, eyes watching the younger place the unlit stick between his lips.

“Habits, right?” Bambam’s half lidded eyes waited on the other to light the cig like a fucking princess, softly placing his hand over the others as he struck the lighter for him.

“Habits.” Jackson echoed, moving to the side as Bambam blew his pungent cloud into the night.

“I like it, this fiesta situation,” Bambam spoke between the silence, keeping his eyes fixed on the lights and vacant rooms ahead of him. Probably thinking about whatever room Taehyung was in, whatever he was doing.

“Yeah?”

“Takes the edge off,” He took another drag, Jackson watching the length of his neck when he exhaled, spotting a dark bruise forming. Jackson wasn’t an artist like Bambam was, but of course, he still admired his work. “Or maybe that’s just tequila talkin’, huh?”

Jackson chuckled to himself, his fucked up, _desperate_ self. There was nothing he wanted more than to ditch this party, pin Bambam to one of those creaky beds and make him moan for him again and again instead of using cheap shots to forget things. He fidgeted his fingers, shoving them deep into his pockets. Fuck.

The younger was giving him an inch and he wanted the fucking mile. He could never keep his hands off of what he couldn't have, could he?

“Most definitely the Tequila.”

Bambam watched the windows, the glow from other suites, the poorly drawn curtains. He smirked. People were definitely fucking right now if they were still awake - and all the power to them. A deep, tortured swoop below his gut came at the thought of not being able to _relate_. He gulped.

“Do- what’s ya last name again?” Bambam tried to distract himself with a question, missing Jackson’s beat of hesitation before he answered, _“Wen… why, wanna share it?”_ earning him a swift slap to the gut from the younger.

“What’s on your mind, lil one?” Jackson asked, grinning at the glare Bambam gave him at the name, just getting a little shrug.

“Just V.”

Jackson hummed, looking away from the older so he wouldn't trigger anything like back in the room. After a few moments and some stolen glances, he figured the coast was clear.

“What about em’? You know, V…”

Bambam wiped his nose, “Uh...nothin’. Just kinda sucks he can't see none of this. He loves parties. Prolly not much no _more_ …”

“Bullshit. I think he needs... _this_ shit more than you might think.” Jackson cracked his knuckles, thinking about how Bambam had referred to the redhead as ‘Tae’ instead of the one letter, “Could take some of his edge off. Both of you, I-I dunno-”

“Don’t say _talk it out_ or somethin’ stupid like that.” Bambam chuckled humorlessly, cigarette hanging useless between his dainty fingers. They were bruised from the mountain climb. “Got nothin’ to say to him. Don't mean he don't need a drink or two, though…just respect.”

Jackson crossed his arms, shaking his head at the poorly covert concern the younger had for his close friend. He didn't know much about these two, but he knew Bambam did actually care for him and was more than a little hurt by their rift.

So, he had a great idea.

“Bring the man one!” Jackson spotted a cooler on a table near them, digging a beer out and wiggling it around in his hands, “Peace offering, see?”

Bambam stared at the cold drink with an unreadable expression before settling on one and stomping the cigarette out below his foot. He looked... _agreeable_ to say the least.

“Kay.”

“Kay?”

The younger started towards the doors first as usual. “If you get him down here with that beer, i’ll make it worth your while, _Jackson Wen.”_

The blonde’s already impossibly huge eyes widened even more when Bambam tugged him forward by his belt buckle, “Promise you that…deal?”

Jackson gulped, feeling Bambam’s fingers tracing his happy trail. Now he _has_ to fuckin’ do this. “K- Alright. Okay. I’ll come get you when we get back down then.”

Jackson turned to take off, feeling Bambam bring him back towards him by the belt buckle once more. Quick, skilled hands felt his lower abs up before he shivered at fingers tracing his back. The younger kept eye contact with the other when he came in contact with what he was looking for, pulling it from his waistband with a grin.

“That’s-”

“Insurance… so i’ll know you’ll come back.” The raven haired man tucked the gun into his own waistband, tipping his head to the side as if daring Jackson to protest. He didn't.

Game on.

Bambam watched Jackson take off towards where Taehyung’s room was, chuckling to himself before slipping back into the party.

He _knew_ Taehyung would never come back out to party with them being so angry right now, but it was funny to see Jackson try, and he loved dangling promises in his face and seeing how desperate he was for him. Honestly, it made him feel _that_ little bit better about wanting to be touched again so badly by the blonde.

But for now, as he re-entered the party and joined a dance circle with the others, he’d just have to wait and see.

  
-

Jackson had the cold beer in a deathgrip as he skipped up the stairs to Taehyung’s suite, even taking two steps at a time in a haste to get to his room and complete the task. However Bambam planned to come through with the promise, he knew it was of his utmost benefit - a damn near _requirement_ \- to get it done.

Besides, all he had to do was get the kid down for a beer or two, a reunion wasn't apart of the deal.

The blonde made it to Taehyung’s door, ignoring how eerily silent it was on this balcony floor when he knocked several times.

“Yo, V! You in there? It’s Jackson!” He called out, knocking a few more times. No response. “I got you a drink here, there's a lot more where it came from too - down at the party…”  

He stayed still, waiting. Nothing again.

Jackson tried a different approach, “We miss you down here, V. Some of the girls were askin’ about you, saw you checking in and wanted to meet up.” He wasn't lying, that was actually true - he didn't know if that would work on Taehyung though. Or if the kid was even straight to begin with.

“V?” He knocked again, putting his ear to the door. He heard a hum of different voices, like he was watching the television. “I know you’re in there!”

Jackson tried the doorknob out of curiosity, mouth dropped open in shock when it opened right up.

“What the...V, your door is...” The blonde stood in the middle of the room, staring at the novella on the screen blasting at full volume, the messy state of one of the beds. The bathroom door was open like someone had just used it. He felt the bed, frowning when the sheets felt completely cold despite the blatant use _._

Yep. Something was wrong with this picture.

Something was _definitely_ wrong.

Jackson quietly walked into the bathroom, keeping his breath steady, trying hard not to go detective mode and draw the scariest conclusion first. Maybe V took a walk, maybe he was off in town (okay, he’d at least tell someone), or maybe he was _already_ at the party and-

_Click._

Jackson’s heart picked up at the unmistakable sound. The room door had just closed, and it definitely wasn't the wind.

“Fuck,” he quickly darted behind a wall near the shower when he heard footsteps from the near the bedroom. He held his breath, hearing voices that rose over the televisions, speaking the same language but in a urgent manner. As if they were looking for someone. Like they were looking for _him._

And if they were looking for him, they already had Taehyung, and if they had Taehyung - all of them were in danger. _Shit, shit, shit!_ This couldn't be fucking happening right now. He was too buzzed for this.

“Come out, man. We know you are here.” A heavily accented voice spoke out, followed by the unmistakable sound of the safety being taken off of a gun. What a lucky night he was having, huh?

“We got your friend, you know? If you don't come out now, he’s a dead man. Comprende?”

Jackson felt around his waistband for the pistol Hoseok had lent him, cursing every higher and lower lower when he felt nothing but skin. Where the fuck-

_“Insurance… so i’ll know you’ll come back.”_

Great. Jackson balled his fists tight by his sides. His horny ass sacrificed his damn survival for this.

The blonde watched, crouching by the showers when he heard feet coming towards the bathroom. Oh, fuck. His eyes quickly darted around the room for something, anything to defend himself with to make hand to hand his last resort with gun-happy gangsters.

Nothing but a damn loofah. And he left the beer bottle on the table before investigating in here.

 _Improvise._ Jackson pulled out his lighter from his pocket when the man stepped into room, sliding it across the floor. Just as predicted, the man’s eyes followed the motion, quickly darting his foot out and hooking it around his ankle, making the man fall face first onto the hard linoleum. He grabbed the gun that slipped from his grasp, making a smooth run for it when he heard that tell-tale _click_ right in front of him.

There was another guy with this one, then two more goons running in right behind him.

The main guy spoke up, ink black hair slicked back, fairly young.

“We got more guys outside if you wanna trip them up too, tough guy.”

Jackson took a deep breath, shutting his eyes for a moment in frustration. He was outnumbered. He lowered his pistol.

“What the fuck do you want…”

Their leader smirked, “Vámanos.” Waving Jackson to him with his pistol like it was a friendly offering, he chuckled humorlessly, but as soon as he stepped up, the two men holding guns behind the leader forced hold onto Jackson’s arms, guiding him out of the room as if he couldn't walk himself.

What got him the most was onlookers from other suites seeing this and doing nothing. Either they _really_ liked to mind their business, or this was a regular fucking occurrence for gangsters with guns to show up at this establishment during a party.

Probably the latter.

Next thing Jackson knew, he was forced into the back of a van with his hands tied, almost hitting his head against the window getting in. As soon as the door closed and it was completely dark, he was wiggling his hands and wrists in the restraints. A bit of light came in through a window up front, alerting Jackson to the presence of another person - a person with a fire red hair that was _impossible_ to fucking miss.

It was Taehyung.

He wasn't dead or missing (anymore), he was tied up in the back of this truck just like Jackson.

“V- V, hey it’s me..” Jackson whispered, kicking his feet out to jostle the other awake. He frowned. The kid must've put up a fight and got knocked out before getting thrown in here.

Through little slivers of light from the windows, he could see Taehyung blinking awake, jolting hard and panting behind his gag. It even looked like they used his _own_ bandana to gag him with.

“V..”

The redhead’s eyes landed on Jackson’s and his body went rigid, freezing completely still for seconds as he looked at him. His eyes started to tear up, shaking his head from side to side, breaking the blonde’s heart that he was caught up in this situation.

He clearly wasn't ready for any of it.

“M’gonna get us out, I promise,” Jackson said, eyes darting to the front of the truck where the goons were, “I promise I will.”

He promised Bambam he would get V back, and that was a promise Jackson intended to keep.

 

-

 

The party had reached it’s peak by the time Bambam re-entered the hall, smoke was thick in the air along with the smell of fried food and vodka - the combination almost made him queasy. Almost.

He decided to chill on any more drinks, wanting to be fully conscious to tease Jackson when he came back _without_ a redhead on his arm.

Sometime during the last stretch, Jisoo and Hoseok had linked up with him and hung with each other instead of working the party. They came one by one, each starting to pick up a… different vibe from the atmosphere.

Jisoo twisted her purple strands into a bun, swaying her body to the music. “Hey, you guys saw those guys come in, the ones over there with the gold on?”

She nodded her head over to the side, Bambam turning to see the same table that was watch him and Jackson earlier filled with even more people than last time. They were still looking at him.

Bambam crossed his arms, “Who the fuck are they? It’s like everyone started… _gravitating_ towards them like they own the damn place or somethin’.”

Jisoo shrugged, “Maybe they do.”

Hoseok came waltzing over, his smile still on as he observed them both, “Definitely _not_ the owners. I met the owners - they helped put this on, cooked this food - it’s a family joint. An abuela and her grandkids, not those guys.”

“Then what the fuck?” Bambam groaned, feeling the stares burn holes through his clothes. He heard cackling, hissing, even fucking whistles in their direction for the past ten minutes. “They keep - starin’ like they got a fuckin’ problem.”

Jisoo must have sensed Bambam’s anger starting to flare, the overwhelming need to snap within him that they were all waiting for - not the grief, they’d never seen that - but the _anger -_ because she immediately stepped in front of Bambam’s line of view of the guys, pushing a beer into his hands to distract him.

“Drink.”

“I ain’t-”

 _“Drink it.”_ Hoseok insisted next, eyes hard and daring Bambam to argue him. It was the wrong time to act an ass, and Hoseok needed to investigate something without both of them making some scene.

“I’m off. Gotta grab JB, wherever he fuckin’ went - hold it down, you two.” He gave a quick nod to the both of them, disappearing into the crowd with his signature smile to keep up appearances.

Ever since Jisoo changed positions in front of Bambam, the whistles from the men had grown even louder, paired with some likely crude remarks he couldn't understand. The grip tightened around the beer bottle, wishing he could do anything _else_ with his hands. _Where the fuck was Jackson, already?_

“You two having a good time?”

Bambam tensed when he felt an arm thrown around his shoulder, ready to elbow the hell out of whatever _idiot_ touched him when he turned and saw it was the same guy from before - the one who drove them here.

Jisoo smiled politely, communicating with Bambam through a gaze to chill while starting up idle conversation with the guy. He relaxed his posture, biting the inside of his cheek before throwing back his beer. When his head came back down, he connected eyes with the girl, _this guy’s_ girl, the one who ultimately decided on giving them the ride - on one of the asshole’s _lap._

_What the fuck?_

“Yo, you date her don’t you?” Bambam's too buzzed for tact, damn near drunk, of course he pointed it out to the guy. Jisoo turned to the sight, eyes sharp in recognition of the situation before she addressed the elephant in the room.

“Who the hell are they, Gabriel? Why are you just _letting_ that happen to her?”

He, _Gabriel,_ Bambam now learned, slightly chuckled before rubbing the back of his neck. The girl mentioned had a clearly uncomfortable smile on her face while the man traced a hand up her thigh - like he owned her. Like she couldn't do anything, and her boyfriend here was just talking to _them_ like it was normal.

“I forget sometimes. You guys really wouldn't know how it works around here.”

“...How _what_ works?” Bambam threw his arm off, feeling his patience plummet to zero.

And as soon as he asked - as if the man upstairs was giving him another reason to snap - Gabriel’s _girlfriend_ was approaching their group now with the asshole in tow. He also brought along another one of his friends who had a very hungry gaze on Jisoo.

“Aye, Gabriel! I hope you’re enjoying yourself. I know Adriana is...she’s just beautiful tonight, isn’t she?” His accent was heavy, his gold was blinding. Dude wasn't rich besides the piece if Bambam went by clothing - but he couldn't deduce it all yet. The man went onto say more, ‘ _la mañana’_ being one of those things - so Bambam knew the asshole was planning to sleep with her.

Whether she liked it or not.

Jisoo couldn't bite her tongue and the younger felt it coming. It was easy to see, the way her whole demeanor shifted when she realized the woman was being courted against her will. It wasn't a regular occurrence at Dynasty - not with Mark in charge. Anyone who dared to harass his employees were dead meat. And idiots.

“Huh...doesn't look like Adri’s all that into it. Wouldn't you agree, Bam?”

“Can't argue with that.” He watched the other man that was with them laugh like it was amusing somehow; Adriana just tensed. Her smile becoming a grimace when the hand on her side got tighter. Gabriel shifted on his feet beside him.

“I see, I see. How about a suggestion, beautiful...” Main asshole looked Jisoo up and down like she was on display before gesturing to the other guy. “Why don't you let my partner entertain you for the night, instead of worrying about another girl’s fun?”

“What the- _fun?”_ Jisoo’s face twisted in disgust, fists clenched by her side, opening her mouth to speak once more but the asshole had interrupted her with a laugh. He turned to Bambam, his other friend inching closer towards Jisoo with that disgusting look again.

“You, tell me. How much she go for a night?”

It all happened pretty fast.

The next thing Bambam knew, Adriana gasped when Jisoo lifted her dress and pulled a switchblade from the garter on her tights, pointing it towards main asshole’s throat. Bambam pulled his - _Jackson’s_ \- pistol out of his waistband with a quickness, pointing it directly at his friend's forehead if he dared to make a move toward either of them.

The music was still going, but people were paused watching the scene unfold in front of them like a movie trailer.

_“No, no, no!”_

Gabriel tried to mediate it, making a move to grab for Adriana in front of him, but faster than he could blink, a bullet went straight through his head from the back and exited from his eyeball. The shot was fast, brutal, something that would sound stupid as hell to tell someone without them seeing it for themselves.

Adriana had the man cradled in her arms, dripping dark blood all over the ground, sobs ripping from her chest that could break anyone's spirit.

 _“That..._ now that’s for bringing Tuan’s guys here thinking we wouldn't find out. Who’s next?”

Jisoo gasped, knife in her hands ready to plunge it in the asshole in front of her.

“Don’t you move, girl. I could get a bullet through your pretty little head quicker than you can say your name.” He warned, pulling out his own pistol and pointing it towards Adriana’s head as she cradled the corpse on the ground.

Jisoo was shaking in rage at this point, both eyes squeezing shut after the sound of a bullet - _two_ bullets, one after the other - knowing what she’d see when she opened her eyes.

_“Get down!”_

The girl ducked and so did their youngest, both gaping when they saw main asshole and his friend dead on the ground with bullets in their heads. They were so particular and calculated, skilled… there was no question who was responsible for them.

Unfortunately, the shots made a whole firepower battle break out, so Bambam grabbed Jisoo and dodged through it the best they could, taking shelter behind a fallen food table to wait for the others.

Jisoo even tried to go back for Adriana, but as soon as she got the idea, they noticed the girl was already injured from a ricochet bullet in her side. It hit her right below the ribs.

Bambam cursed to himself. She’d bleed and die soon, and hell, what could they do in the middle of harm's way themselves?

“I-Is she…?” Jisoo held her knife with a knuckle-white grip, pupils trembling as she looked back at the black haired man. Bambam quickly squeezed her shoulder, nodding to where he saw Jaebum and Hoseok.

Those two looked like two stars of an action, back to back, shooting at more of those men who were previously sitting at tables (who were now shooting at all of them). The sight made Bambam’s heart thump in his chest, a fond memory of him and Taehyung’s first photoshoot together crossing his mind. Back to back, hand guns up, classic _Miami Vice_ pose. Only now, Jaebum and Hoseok were the real deal.

After a moment, the pair managed to escape and push themselves into a nearby restroom without being detected. Once inside, Jisoo choked on a short sob, trying to hide it behind her hand. Bambam checked her for injuries, trying to ignore her pleading eyes on him while she did the same.

He was just as fucking terrified.

“What the f-fuck is happening? How the- they _knew_ us!” She roughly wiped a tear from her face while Bambam just checked his bullets and inched towards the door without making a sound. He put a finger to his lips, telling Jisoo with a quick arm motion to come to the door quietly while he checked the condition.

“I-I don't hear nothin’. Let’s get outta here, kay?” Bambam whispered, making sure the girl nodded in understanding before they made their way back out into the unsightly ballroom. The people were long gone, but Hoseok and Jaebum were standing in the middle of it all, dead men sprawled all over the area including the people that helped them. It _sure_ was a novelty image to keep.

“Of course _you_ jackasses made it out of that.” Bambam remarked with a breath of obvious relief.

“Could say the same to you both,” The corner of Hoseok’s mouth lifted into a smirk, clapping the youngest on his back. “Did pretty good with my pistol, kid. You okay, Ji?”

The girl absently nodded and Bambam snorted, brushing off the compliment. “Didn't even get to shoot it.”

“Sometimes you don't always have to.” The auburn haired male shrugged, watching Jisoo trembling in her spot, staring at Gabriel and Adriana’s dead bodies on the floor before Jaebum turned her away, taking the girl into his arms.

Bambam heard him whisper something that sounded like ‘ _Don’t think about it’_ to her as they embraced. She looked safe in his arms, even during all this bullshit. He turned away stiffly.

“Who were those guys?” Bambam asked pointedly to both men as Jaebum looked up from the girl in his arms. Hoseok nodded to him before he spilled.

“The cartel...the Mexican drug cartel. Walked _right_ into their territory with an RSVP, practically.”

The youngest groaned at the admission, throwing his head back in frustration. First the assassins, now the fucking _cartel?!_ The Mexican cartel - the people who happen to have a functioning relationship with the likes of Pablo Escobar at the moment?

“Do I even wanna _know_ what do they gotta do with Black Lotus?”

“Why else, dumbass? The money.”

“The money we _lost.”_ Jisoo spoke up after Jaebum, taking a deep breath before looking between the three men. “They know we don't have it… so they're coming for _all_ of our heads since they can't touch Mark’s.”

“Fuckin’ amazing!” Bambam shouted, voice bouncing off the bloody walls. “We gotta get the others and jet. There's no way in _hell_ we can deal with this shit on our own - not the fuckin’ cartel, okay? We- we gotta get in contact with Mark…”

Hoseok looked at Bambam with a tense set jaw. Jaebum’s gun clicked, shutting the safety off. If Bambam wasn't so frantic, he’d have known what those responses meant.

“C’mon, let's just get the others and-”

“Yeah, that's the thing, Bam. There ain't no others.” Jaebum cut in, turning his face from Jisoo, who was cleaning spots of blood from his cheeks with a tissue, “...They’re missing.”

Bambam’s heart could’ve tumbled out onto the floor and shattered like glass. It felt like a truck hit him.

“The suites. Taehyung’s is empty. So is yours and Jackson’s. We checked before coming back here.”

_No._

Bambam pushed through the two men, charging up the steps with vigor, tripping over his own feet as he practically flung himself into the only room with the door cocked wide open. It was Taehyung’s.

“Taetae?!” He yelled, his voice cracked as he tore through the suite. The tv was still on, the beer he’d given Jackson to lure Taehyung sat untouched on the coffee table in front of it. He didn't even get it to him.

Bambam’s heart lept the more he looked at the room, the obvious signs of a struggle, the dirty footprints on the ground. He ran into the bathroom, letting out a frustrated yell when he saw Jackson’s blue lighter on the ground next to several drops of blood.

“Jackson - he was here... I-I told em’ to…” Bambam trailed off, not being able to take three pairs of judgemental eyes on him at once. It’s all his fault - _he_ _knows that,_ he doesn't need them to remind him.

Hoseok stepped up to the younger, slowly. “Relax, Bambam…you hear me?”

The youngest’s vision blurred with tears, running his hands through his hair, pulling at the roots. “Tae’s probably dead - it’s my fuckin’ fault…”

“Don’t _say_ that, Bambam!” Jisoo said, trying to step up but getting held back by Jaebum - the action mirroring earlier with Taehyung exactly. And that seemed to set him off even more.

“It’s not your fault!”

“No! Shut up!” Bambam launched the beer bottle from the coffee table at the wall beside them, watching it bust and shatter into pieces on the wall beside them. “They’re _gone -_ both of them! Don't you understand?!”

After that, he didn't remember anything.

Jaebum had restrained Bambam while he thrashed around, trying to grab any and everything he could ruin in the room. Hoseok gripped him by his face, trying hard to catch the youngers wild gaze. “Don't fucking do this right now. You _need_ to hold it together.”

Bambam hollered again, like a child throwing a tantrum when Jaebum lowered him to the ground, pinning him there with his arm behind so he wouldn't move. He was slightly buzzed, his stomach sensitive to the food and the situation - he felt it building up.

_“Bambam, we’re gonna fucking get them back but we need you - we need you with us on it and not like this!”_

He felt hot tears down his face, the burn of the filthy carpet against his cheek.

_“Do you understand me?”_

_“Jisoo, open the door -”_

Taehyung was gone, Jackson was gone. Who knows what the hell was done to them?

Hoseok’s worried face was the last thing Bambam saw before he blacked out. Jisoo’s concerned mumbles were the last thing he heard.

But his last thought?

Bambam just wished it was him instead.

 


	7. ACT III - FINAL

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end, the beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Act four will be the final one, so tell me what you think! I know I don't get many comments, but I still do want to finish this and thank everyone for reading tbh

Jackson felt the truck stop, jolting his body forward as he kept as still as he could. He looked at Taehyung, who’d calmed down exponentially since he first arrived about twenty minutes prior, looking more tired and defeated than he’d seen anyone look in a long time. The only other person who could rival him now was Bambam - and that was sickeningly ironic.

Jackson stirred when he saw the men climbing out of the van, breath shallow when he saw figures walking passed the windows. As soon as the double doors opened, Taehyung was the first to be grabbed for - making Jackson holler and yell, kicking, shouting - making any commotion he could if anyone saw him.

But then, he remembered.

On the off-chance the police did get involved, assuming the cartel doesn't have them on their payroll, _nobody_ in this situation was safe be it a mobster or an undercover one.

In simpler terms: they were fucked.

“Get the fuck away from us!” They started to grab for Jackson, the man receiving a mouthful of his shoe instead of his cooperation. Taehyung’s face was generally blank, just watching Jackson struggle helplessly like a moth towards a flame. It made Jackson desperate - it made him seethe. _How could you not want to help yourself?! Did he want to die?!_

_“This one's fucking annoying!”_

_“Just try!”_

Try, his ass. Jackson continued to struggle, even when a bigger man had managed to get a grip on his collar, yanking the blonde out of the truck until he tumbled onto the pebbled ground. Jackson was panting, coughing when dirt and grime clouded his vision and filled his lungs from the landing. He saw Taehyung's shoes as he was forced away with the other men, starting to sit up on his elbows with the hand ties. His elbows were stinging and aching.

“V!” The blonde's voice was rough, the other slightly turned in the men’s arms to look back at him, only to be pushed forwards again. “V, fight back! Y-You can’t let- _hngh!”_

The breath was knocked out of his chest, a sharp pressure was in the middle of his shoulder blades. Someone’s goddamn _boot._

“Ah, ah, ah…” They said, but Jackson still stirred, attempting to sit up again when the shoe dug further and further into his back. “If you don't comply, you won't like what you’ll get!” An accented voice spat. Jackson coughed, letting out a rough chuckle. This dumbass. He wouldn't like any of this shit regardless.

“Yeah, _fuck you_.” The blonde spat, licking his dry lips, “What? You’re mighty obsessed with Mark if you gotta go through all this to track us - why not send a guy to him? You know where he’s at!”

They weren't responding to him, continuing to fire back and forth in Spanish as the shoe dug deeper and deeper into his back.

“Huh?! Why not go straight to the man?! You guys too pussy?!”

Wrong choice of words.

A sharp kick landed to Jackson’s gut, followed by even more, making his vision blur the longer it went on. The pain started to become excruciating to the point of it feeling numb.

Jackson had no idea what happened after that. He wasn't conscious anymore.

 

-

 

When the blonde opened his eyes again, he saw a dim space, like they were inside a basement with very little light - but a normal basement. Jackson’s eyes fluttered around to scan the area. It was stuffy, small, voices weren't reverbing from walls. They were in someone's house, it seemed like.

He immediately stirred around in his seat, hissing at the burst of pain in his side - his ribs. His hands were tied again with rope. So were his ankles. This was going to be a bitch to try to get out of, but he just hoped -

_“Taehyung…”_

Jackson heard a deep voice from beside him, quickly turning his head to his left to see the redhead tied up in a chair just like he was. His throat felt like sandpaper. “What?”

“Kim Taehyung. That’s my name. Not V.” He said, keeping his voice low while his eyes stayed trained on the ground. Jackson licked his lips again, eyes checking the other for injuries before he questioned the man.

But the answer he got wasn't one he expected from the optimist he came to know in the past 24 hours.

“Just wanted it to be known,” His voice was raspy, he gulped, squeezing his eyes tightly. “Ya know, if we die here tonight. V’s a fake name, fake persona...” The redhead’s voice trailed off before his eyes started to well up with tears, “I created ‘V’ to _protect_ Kim Taehyung… shoulda known it’d be pointless, huh?”

Jackson let out a breath, pulling his restraints as tautly as he could with no avail. They weren't alone in the house, but they were alone in the basement. If Jackson could just get the fuck loose, he could cut Taehyung free and they could make a break for it.

But they couldn't do shit if one of them was already too comfortable with defeat. Too comfortable with _death._

“Nobody’s fucking dying - Kim Taehyung _or_ V. Stop saying that.”

Taehyung chuckled. The sound was dry and humorless, unamused. “And how are you so sure, huh? About everything?”

“What are you talking about?”

Taehyung shrugged, keeping his gaze empty and far. “V may be a fake personality, but it definitely ain't the only one. Where did you even come from?”

Jackson groaned, ignoring the dull throbbing pain in his side, the panic in his chest.

“Are you fucking - I'm tied up just like you! What are you trying to say?”

Taehyung finally turned to him, blinking slowly, eyes unwavering from his. “Nothing,” he repeated himself, shaking his head slightly. “Nothing. M’just...guess I'm just trippin’ out right now. Scared.”

The blonde sighed then, choosing to ignore the redhead. He didn't know why or how he could be suspicious of Jackson, but he had to reverse it. He couldn't compromise anything. There was only one option here.

Jackson had to make Taehyung trust him.

Just like he was working on building that with Bambam, it was all integral. One misplaced piece could affect the entire puzzle. Yeah, they were in a shitty situation right now, but this could be the stepping stone he needs to bridge that gap.

Make a memory, save a life; he’d love to see the redhead try to doubt him then.

But they had to get them the hell out of here first.

“I was looking for you, you know that?” Jackson started, “That’s how I'm here. They caught me when I swung by your room.”

Taehyung’s brows furrowed. “Why?”

The blonde kept it light. Sincere. “Beer, obviously. It was great, we thought you needed to cool off. I brought you a bottle - well, you know - intended to.”

Taehyung just snorted. “Save it. You were tryin’ to get me to come out of my room to that damn party. I ain't stupid, Jackson.”

The blonde licked his lips, trying at his restraints again. “No, you’re right - that’s exactly what I was doing,” he continued, “I mean why not? After everything we went through… we deserve to unwind. You deserve to, right?”

“We’re not good people. We left innocent people to _die.”_ Taehyung’s voice became sharp, the anger and emotion within it making Jackson tense up in his seat. “But who's good, anyway? Hyungwon left me, dumped me in a tub. I was high out of my mind, I still don't even know on _what…”_ Taehyung chuckled, bottom lip wobbling.

“Well, Bambam _is_ good. He saved you, Taehyung.” Jackson said it honestly, “He didn't stop until he found you, even when shit got real bad - he refused to leave you behind. I was there for that.”

“Yeah, thanks… he's the reason I'm _in_ this mess. All Bambam did was _lie_ when I wanted nothing more than the truth from him. He’s a liar.”

Jackson felt something stir in him at the other throwing dirt on the youngest’s name. He felt the need to deny, to defend where he should stay passive. “You ever consider the possibility he was trying to protect you?”

“What _difference_ does it make? Look at us. Look where we _are._ If it wasn't the yacht, it woulda been somethin’ else. Dynasty is toxic. Mark Tuan… he’s fucking _toxic._ ”

“...Why do you say that?”

“He stole my best friend from me. I don't even know who Bambam is anymore. Shit, _he_ doesn't even know,” Taehyung shrugged, looking up at tiles on the ceiling. “I liked you at first. Thought you could help him, make em’ better. He even started paintin’ again right after he met you.” A ghost of what may have been a smile, maybe a grimace, was on Taehyung's face before being settled back into coldness.

“But you can’t…’cause you're just like the rest of them.”

“The rest of them?” Jackson felt like he was just asking question after question, but the information was as valuable as it was hurtful.

“Black Lotus,” Taehyung responded deadpan. “Bammie hid that shit from me the _entire_ time. Do you know how... _fucked_ that is? How twisted? But I assume you know about that since your face didn't change or nothin’. I ain't surprised by much anymore.”

Jackson didn't know how to respond to that. But again, he couldn't help but question him further. Was he really like them? Cutthroat mob members and drug traffickers?

Well, he supposed that was kind of a good thing. It meant he was blending in well. But he didn't want this to change him into someone he can't recognize.

“Why? Why do you think... I'm like them?”

“Mark invited you along, didn't he? That man’s got a reason for everything. Believe that.”

The blonde stopped struggling momentarily to catch his breath, Taehyung's words echoing in his head, making him itch with pure curiosity. What could Mark have wanted with Bambam? Was Taehyung just along for the ride?

“This might be personal but...who were those people? You mentioned some names to Bambam and he kinda just...lost it on you?”

Taehyung stiffened. Jackson was asking about those dead assholes - Wayne and Trip.

There was _definitely_ no need to discuss it. He doesn't need that toxicity on his mind before he dies, _thank you very much._

“Ask him yourself. Might hear more than I have.” As soon as Taehyung spoke, the two heard multiple heavy footsteps from the top floor. Jackson hastily yanked at his restraints again, while Taehyung had a wry smile on. “If we make it that far.”

Jackson groaned, “Why do u keep talking like we're gonna die?”

“They said so.” The redhead replied easily, just before the door above them slammed open, causing them both to jolt in their seats. They both fell silent at the sound of deep, authoritative voices coming from the top the steps and ascending down to them.

“Now, you two.” The man who caught Jackson spoke, crossing his arms in his shirt that was about two sizes too small. “You both know exactly why you're here. Your leader promised us 5 million in exchange for our cocaine...we already had it processed and ready to go, but when we came to the meeting spot. It was _nowhere_ to be found.”

The man walked to the back table, lifting up a Beretta, clicking the safety off with an attitude way too nonchalant for their liking. “We have someone to report to as well, just like the both of you. They don't like wasting time. Most of all, they hate to waste _money._ Do you know how useful that five mil would've been to us?”

Taehyung actually laughed at that.

“Wow, _five million dollars?…”_ he started, followed by another giggle. “Damn... you’re sure gonna _loooove_ our little funny story about that, I tell you.”

Jackson glared at the redhead, “Taehyung!” not even getting a chance to pacify the situation before the guy pointed a gun at Jackson’s head. Oh hell no.

“Tell me what the fuck his crazy ass is talkin’ about. Where the hell is our money?”

Jackson stayed silent, working on the ropes behind him discreetly as the barrel of the gun faced his forehead. He couldn't tell the truth - he certainly couldn't let Taehyung blurt that shit out either. The truth would get them six feet under, hell, it’ll have them swimming with the fishes.

“Speak the fuck up!” The man shouted, motioning to his partner who bounded up to Taehyung, landing a sick hook over the the redhead’s jaw.

“ _Where_ is it!? Where?!”

Another punch landed. Jackson struggled in his seat, not being able to bare the sight of Taehyung spitting out his own blood, his previously flawless skin now destined to swell and bruise. Wasn't he an actor? That would definitely put him out for a while.

“Now this guy, he’s a tough one. I can't break you the same as I can this weak thing over here-” He started in English but trailed off in Spanish to his partner with a cackle, seeming to imitate how Jackson pulled his gun on him back in the room - only to be outnumbered. He clenched his jaw, he was being mocked - he knew that. But what they were actually saying was lost on both of them.

Well, it _seemed_ to be the both of them. Until Taehyung turned to Jackson after a specific statement, a chilling, bloody smile on his lips that sent a chill down his spine.

Then he started to full on cackle, and really really cackle, making Jackson stop his escape measures out of pure shock. He knew Taehyung was a little off his rocker at the moment (understandably), but what the hell could've been so funny?

Jackson didn't even know he understood Spanish in the _first_ place.

The laughing seemed to annoy their aggressors as much as it confused him, because soon after, Taehyung received a punch to his gut - one that made the younger lurch like he was gonna hurl. Jackson had to look away.

Their kidnapper spoke again, all of his attention on the blonde. “Now, back to that method with you we were talkin’ about. You came after this one to save him, and from what we saw you’re a pretty... _decent_ guy, right?”

“What the fuck is the point?”

“The point?” He chuckled, “The _point_ is that we have your friends. All of them.”

Jackson went still. He even stopped hearing Taehyung mumbling obscenities beside him.

“And that one… that pretty boy you were all over at the party? The guys are _definitely_ gonna enjoy that before they—” he made a clicking sound with his mouth and a slashing motion across his throat with his hand.

 _No, no, no!_ They were talking about Bambam… they were going to hurt him. They were going to kill him, or worse. There was no fucking way he could let that happen, not while he was alive. _No damn way._ Him and Taehyung? They were getting the _hell_ out of here. And these guys... by the shitty way things are looking, Jackson may have to take his first lives.

Taehyung’s sadistic smile had wiped away completely. His gaze went pitch black, seeming to gain some fight that he hadn't used since they got there. He should be grateful, but all it did was confirm Jackson’s worst fears about what they would do to Bambam _and Jisoo,_ being the only woman. How they’d try to stop Jaebum and Hoseok from cutting their balls off by any means.

This wasn’t about Jackson and Taehyung—or even _Mark._ As long as they were here… it was about all of them.

Taehyung started to thrash wildly in his seat, his voice boisterous and deep like thunder. “Don't you _dare_ lay a fucking _finger_ on him - on any of ‘em! I swear on my life, I’ll fucking-”

“We’ll do it! We’ll- We’ll tell you, alright!” Jackson blurted out, gaining everyone's attention on him. Taehyung’s eyes were bloodshot, shooting daggers into the blonde that could kill him if looks had bullets.

“Finally. Go on.”

The blonde took a moment before he spoke. He hoped he was doing the right thing. He hoped Taehyung would understand—no, he _needed_ him to understand.

“There's a piece of paper… right in my pants pocket here. I have the address written, but it’s in code we understand so that our crew could transfer it safely. That's where the money is. Cold hard cash.”

“Explain.”

“Well… this is Mark Tuan’s first deal with you guys, of course. He wanted to make sure everything was legit - and that… _this_ shit wouldn't happen. If it went smoothly, he was sure to double it. But…if we never even _get_ to it..”

The man held his hand up. “Double the price? Ten million?”

Jackson nodded quickly. “Maybe more. This is a _big_ deal to him… came through on a huge yacht, had it sitting below the deck. The boat arrived later than we expected, making you all think we ditched. Please know this… Black Lotus _never_ falls through on our promises.”

Taehyung’s breath became shallow at ‘our’, gulping on a dry throat as he watched the exchange. From what he knew, neither him or _Jackson_ were actually apart of the gang. But of course, that made no damn difference to these guys. Anyone associated, close, or related to the enemy could get killed.

“So it was _all_ a big misunderstanding then, huh?”

Jackson sensed the skepticism in his voice, but he kept going anyway. That didn't matter. “More like a… lack of communication. But we can fix it if you keep us alive. Take you right to it. That’s my word.”

“Our word—the both of us.” Taehyung butt in, making sure to sell it clearly because, well, _what fucking choice did he have?_ All he knew was that whatever Jackson was doing, he better make _damn_ sure it works.

“Check his pockets, all of them.” The man called back to his friend, glaring at Jackson. “I take special joy in killin’ liars. You better be on point—you _and_ your friends.”

The blonde clenched his fists as the other man drew nearer to him. “Yeah, yeah, I got it—no way out… don't have a reason to lie right now.”

Taehyung bit the inside of his cheek, watching the man bend down as he approached the blonde, patting over his pockets.

“Which—”

 _“This one, prick!”_ Jackson shouted as he swung his hands-free of the rope and attached it the man’s neck, wrapping the material around until the man turned red in the face. Jackson was strangling him.

Taehyung gasped in shock, eyes open even wider when the blonde snatched a gun from the man’s waistband and aimed it at their main attacker, shooting a bullet in his shoulder and causing him to fall to the ground in pain.

 _“H-Holy shit!_ Wh-What did you—” The redhead stammered, in complete awe as Jackson stood in his chair, using momentum to knock the man back before slamming himself against the nearest wall. The move broke the wooden chair in pieces, effectively releasing the blonde from captivity. He snatched a switchblade hanging from a tool wall from nearby and snapped off the leftover rope with skilled precision.

“Jackson, watch out!”

The injured man lifted his own gun they hadn’t seen, and Jackson quickly dove for the one on the ground and shot him twice more, causing him to yell out in pain and drop his weapon at his side.

Soon after, Jackson was already cutting Taehyung out of his hand restraints, taking care to move quickly against time. But not quick enough.

At once, both of their heads snapped up when the other man Jackson had strangled stood onto his feet. He was coming their way.

“I’ll - _gimme the knife!”_ Taehyung yelled, quickly sawing off the restraints while the blonde got to physically fighting the other man once again.

If you’d shown the redhead this image of Jackson, _sweet Jackson_ who easily gave up his own room for Taehyung’s shared one, helped out a drunk guy he didn’t even know all night—beating the utter crap out of a guy twice his size? He would’ve laughed in your fucking face. Then again, Taehyung was no stranger to this. It wouldn't be the first time someone he met wasn’t what they seemed. _Who is anymore?_

By the time Jackson threw his second hook, the redhead had freed his ankles, watching their attacker bleed out on the floor while the other was getting his ass handed to him.

“J-Jackson, we gotta go!” Taehyung shouted, voice bouncing off the walls as he started up the stairs. He heard the injured one on the ground yelling something into his walkie talkie, and Taehyung quickly kicked it out of his hands. “Jackson—”

 _More of them._ There were more, of course there were. The sound was unmistakable. Their boots banging against the door, the clear intention to wipe Jackson and Taehyung out for real.

“V, get back!” Jackson managed to knock the guy out, cursing aloud when he saw the door fly off the hinges.

It was _too_ much, _too_ fast, and all Taehyung knew was that their kidnapper was bleeding out on the floor, the other was unconscious, and they were outnumbered.

But there was also a pistol on the ground beside him, the owner of it was damn near dead. After all this, knowing the others were in danger...he wasn’t going to end up like him.

The wooden door clambered down the steps, hinges long gone. Taehyung didn’t even know where or what he was aiming for when he pulled the trigger.

_“Taetae!”_

His eyes were screwed shut. His body stumbled back at the force from the weapon, arms up somewhere above his head.

“Tae, please! I-It’s me! It’s us!”

At the sound of the familiar voice, his eyes snapped open. At the sight of a dead body, bleeding from the throat area sprawled across the stairs—they welled up with tears almost immediately.

Bambam stood over the corpse, chest heaving from exhaustion, but the utter jolt to his system when he saw his best friend pull that trigger gave him more energy than he ever had.

“I-I _.._ he's… _what did I...”_ Taehyung’s body trembled, eyes connecting with the hazel ones he came to know and trust. “B-Bammie?”

Bambam stepped over the body, slowly approaching his best friend with his hands out in front of him. Anger, sadness… guilt...that was all anyone could see in the redhead’s eyes as he looked upon their youngest.

“Tae… I-It’s me.” Bambam’s hands were trembling too, a wash of relief flooding through him when Taehyung silently handed over the gun to him. “We have to go… we have to leave, okay?”

Jaebum, Hoseok, and Jisoo were crowded on the stairs watching the trio. Taehyung’s eyes wouldn’t leave the dead body, Jackson’s wouldn’t leave Bambam’s, and hell—they were due for a lot more if they didn't leave right this instant.

“C’mon, let’s get the fuck out of here before anyone can say we were. This had _nothing_ to do with us, we were _never here.”_

Hoseok’s last statement stood with them all as they exited the bloody basement floor. The house they were in looked like any other regular house, had family photos and everything. Taehyung recognized the face of the guy he killed in one of them.

He had a kid. A young son… looked a couple years younger than Bambam.

_What if he didn’t want this life? What if he was just dragged into it like Taehyung?_

“V, let’s go.” Jaebum was standing at the door with everyone else while Bambam was stuck to his side, staring at the picture as well. It was a somber, heavy moment. No one moved or uttered a word.

Until the five of them flinched. They watched as the raven haired boy suddenly snatched the photo and smashed it against another wall. The frame broke, but the picture fell right out. Bambam walked over to the shattered fragments, picking the photo out of the mess before handing it to his best friend and heading out of the door with the rest of them.

When they all got back outside, Jackson and Taehyung noticed a yellow jeep roaring in the street that Jaebum was behind the wheel of, honking the horn with a cocky smirk. This changed the mood, seeming to lift it a bit, while Jisoo playfully flicked Jaebum off and climbed in shotgun, followed by an annoyed Hoseok.

“And where the hell did you guys get  _this_ baby from?!” Jackson asked, letting out a whistle as he looked over the truck. It was built nice, looked pretty new, seemed to run well if it got them all the way here from the motel.

“Stole it, of course. I always wanted one of these Jeep Wrangler’s. Ain’t she beautiful?”

Jaebum cackled when Jackson rolled his eyes and gently shoved him before climbing in the back, followed by Taehyung and Bambam who stayed uncharacteristically quiet since they left the house.It was to be expected, considering everything that went down between them, but it still put a weird vibe over the six as they drove off out of the city’s limits.

From a cramped dinghy, a truck bed, to a full vehicle that could actually support the six semi-comfortably, it wasn’t hard to adjust to the new space. The weather was blazing - especially at nightfall, but everyone had managed to fall asleep. All except Jaebum who drove further and further out of the town.

It was peaceful for a while, but then...it just _wasn’t._

See, there were the great things about Jeeps: cool, spacious, made you look well traveled and adventurous. Then, there was the reality. It was a gas guzzling, economically inconvenient piece of _junk metal._

“Damn… and I thought this was the _dream ride,_ huh?” Jaebum heard Hoseok pipe up from the other seat, leaving him confused until he realized he must’ve said all of that out loud. Good thing he wasn't lying.

Jaebum sighed, pulling into a random gas station off the highway. “Everything’s got a fuckin’ catch these days, it’s ‘87.”

Jisoo stirred from beside the man, pouting as she buried her face deeper into his jacket. “You’re loud, Bummie…” she mumbled, clearly still delirious. That made Hoseok bust out into a loud round of cackles that made the three boys in the back start opening their eyes at the commotion.

“You d—” Jaebum let out a sharp breath as he looked down at the girl, lowering his voice to a mumble. “Shut the hell up, Hobi...”

Hoseok laughed even louder.

Meanwhile, Taehyung and Jackson had already climbed out of the car, leaving Bambam sat in the middle alone while everyone went into the convenience store.

Everyone except Jaebum, who was now leaning outside of the car, waiting on Hoseok to pay the clerk so he could fill the tank. Bambam just stared ahead in his seat of the quiet car as if they never stopped.

Jaebum knocked twice on his window. Bambam rolled it down.

“You know when we get home… whatever’s between you, Jackson and V...”

Bambam snapped quickly. “There’s _nothing_. There’s nothing with me and V that we can’t fix. Definitely nothing with me and Jackson... there can’t be. So drop it, will you?”

“Does Mark know that?” Jaebum fired back, annoyed at how easily the younger could lie to him, even after everything they just went through. They both knew V would never be the same, their friendship or the man himself. And everyone within a reasonable distance can see Jackson and Bambam have something going on.

Now, how Mark will take that last thing — that’s the toss up. The _last_ thing they fucking need is another toss up.

“Does Mark know you’re fucking Jisoo? You know, one of the club employees you’re not supposed to be having romantic _or_ sexual relations with, or are we both keepin’ secrets here?”

Jaebum tensed his jaw at the mention of of the purple haired girl he was definitely _not_ fucking or dating, when he saw the tank was ready to be filled. He sighed. There was no getting to him right now. Both men stared at each other in a tense silence before the older broke the contact.

“I’m not—you know what? Fuck it. Just get out of my car. Stretch your long ass legs, smoke, grab a snack. You’re too tense, I ain’t dealin’ with it right now.”

“Yeah who isn’t, old man.” Bambam mumbled, reluctantly climbing out of the car and snatching a pack of cigarettes Jaebum already had out in his palm with a sarcastic _“Thanks, Dad.”_ to piss the older off before he left.

Before he walked into the dimly lit convenience store, he spotted Hoseok having on a payphone a few meters away next to an outhouse. His brows were creased and a cigarette was clenched in his fingers, but ever so often his expression would soften like it only did for one person. Jimin.

He _must_ be speaking to him or Mark, someone on the inside that could get them the hell out of here. Don’t get him wrong, the country was beautiful and he’d definitely have come here on his own terms, but right now all he wanted to see was LA again.

The click of the bell above the door alerted the rest of the customers to his arrival, but he made a beeline for the back where the restrooms were, doing well to notice Taehyung who was staring between the beer choices in the fridge. It looked more like he was staring at his own reflection in the glass - tired eyes, bruised face, messy hair and all. It was hard to look at. Hard to take in. Bambam couldn't imagine how he felt.

He quickly disappeared inside the dingy bathroom before the redhead looked up in his direction.

As soon as the door shut, he speed walked to the faucet and turned it on, gripping the sink until his knuckles were white.

_“Wayne and Tripp are dead.”_

_“I-I killed...I…B-Bammie?”_

_“I’m here now. So let me.”_

The tears fell one by one.

His chest felt compressed, he felt trapped in his own body, unable to breathe anymore. Bambam snarled at his reflection—his _pathetic_ reflection. He’s so _weak_ right now and that’s the last thing the group needs.

He’s the weakest fucking link, yet has the nerve to be the cause of all this pain, suffering, _everything._ Maybe he should just quit. Maybe… maybe he should go back home. Back to Manhattan.

Bambam meant to chuckle but a sob came out instead. There’s nothing to go back to.

_That was why you left and dragged Taehyung down with you—Taehyung, who had so much ahead of him. It’s over. You’re over. You turned your best friend into a murderer. Not only that, you’re fucking crazy! Jackson could never love, let alone like someone as fucked up as you...so why the hell are you even here?_

His thoughts, the same ones from inside of the car, bombarded his entire being until he couldn’t keep it contained anymore. There was a banging on the door, jiggling of the door knob. He forgot he locked it.

_All of those people died on that boat and Taehyung could’ve been one of them. All because you lied to him about what it all was, what you were apart of, how filthy your hands truly are._

“So filthy…” Bambam murmured, feeling the cold, grimy, wet surface of the floor below him. He didn’t even know when he sat down. The door eventually gave way to whoever was behind it. Bambam didn’t even look up to see who it was.

“Just leave me here...get out...i’m- i’m good...” The younger muttered, cursing at the feeling of the now soaked cigarette packet in his jeans. So much for a smoke. His eyes started to water. He _really_ needed to smoke. _When was the last time he smoked?_

“Shut up, Bammie. You're not.”

Bambam’s head immediately shot up at the rough, baritone voice by the door.

The redhead stared down at him with the same despair he felt, the moment scarily mimicking when Bambam first caught Taehyung snorting coke in the bathroom at that party - when he lied about being a first time user, and Bambam knew but didn't say anything. That was for the best.

Taehyung’s not an addict and Bambam’s okay. _See? Lying is so much easier._

“Hey, Hollywood...” Bambam looked up into Taehyung big eyes, feeling his large hands cupping both sides of his face as he crouched to his level.

He bit his trembling lip, the tears spilling over as he buried his head in the older's chest. It was messy, the way they looked on the wet floor, crying in each other's arms.

Well, more like Bambam was crying and Taehyung holding him with a troubled expression, not knowing how to process an emotionally unstable Bambam when he usually kept this side of him concealed.

Bambam’s hands fisted the fabric of his shirt, _“Please_ forgive me, Tae… _please_ forgive me, i’m a fuck up, i’m—” he broke off to sob again, the sound of it making the redhead’s eyes water no matter how he felt about Bambam at the moment. No matter how he felt about _himself._

In Taehyung’s eyes, he was nothing to cry over, but he couldn't find it in himself to leave Bambam like this.

“Don’t go crying over murderers and shit… the fuck do I look like, huh?” Taehyung spoke softly, a broken smile on his face that made Bambam bury his face in his shirt again.

“You’re not, Taetae.” Bambam muttered into his shirt, “Y-You’re _not.”_

“But I am.”

The younger finally locked eyes with him. “You’re _good,_ Taehyung. You...you’re good. You’ve always been.” He felt the redhead shaking his head, disagreeing, but Bambam continued anyway, ignoring the smell of the stillwater in the stuffy bathroom. “You’re not like me. You can still start over...i-if you want to, you can start over…you’re not like us..”

“Shh, shh...” Taehyung rubbed his back gently. He didn’t know what to say, what to do. He was broken himself. He _hated_ this and he hated what they’d become. He gulped down a lump in his throat when the door was suddenly propped open. The redhead sighed. This was going to be an awkward sight.

“Guys, I’m sorry to interrupt—but we gotta get the fuck out. _Now.”_

Both boys looked at each other worriedly before connecting glances with a frantic Jackson, who was peeking out of the door like someone was waiting on the other side before motioning for them to come on. Bambam couldn’t help but groan. _So much for stretching his legs and having a smoke, huh Jaebum?_

The three filed out of the bathroom quickly, looking over each other's shoulders when they finally saw.

Right by the counter, outside of the door, and near the pumps - there were guys all over, and they weren't doing shit but standing there looking _right_ at them.

Yeah, Bambam didn't like this. It was _definitely_ time to go.

“Don’t look up.” The blonde mumbled to the two, walking carefully towards the exit. Bambam felt Taehyung take his hand, he felt how it was trembling in his grip and tightened it, gently pulling him along a little faster until he felt the older stop suddenly from behind him.

“G-Guys...Jisoo?”

Jackson was halfway out of the door, turning around to the pair. Bambam turned his face away, hiding his red eyes from him. “What? We gotta go, she’s in the car-”

Taehyung wouldn’t budge. “No, she’s not. We walked in with her… remember?”

And just as if it was on cue, Jisoo came out from a door behind the counter, a fresh face and a smile pointed their way. The men by the counter watching them had turned their sights to Jisoo, and the cashier behind the counter had as well.

“They let me use the manager's bathroom since the toilet was clogged in that one,” she turned to the cashier with a plastic bag of toiletries in her hand. “Thank you, I really appreciate it…” Jisoo turned back to them, leaning over the counter from behind it. Clearly, she didn't catch the vibe just yet. “You guys think JB would let me bring a slushy in the Jeep? I’m _so_ thirsty…”

Jackson carefully stepped back into the shop, Bambam saw Jaebum and Hoseok watching them from outside of the jeep. Taehyung’s jaw was clenched, trying to communicate to Jisoo with his eyes to hurry up.

The girl threw the plastic bag away, stepping out from behind the counter. “C’mon, loosen up.. we’re almost home, right?”

She was almost to the group when the cashier suddenly spoke, in his best, broken English.

“Key? Do you have key?”

Jisoo gasped, letting out a short chuckle. “Oh right! Yeah, I’m sorry about that,” she pointed to the cracked open door, “I left it on the sink, right by the toilet.”

“On sink?”

She looked back to the others and at the cashier before she sighed. “Yeah… you know, i’ll just get it. One sec.”

They all watched the men’s eyes follow her as she left into the bathroom again. Both groups made eye contact, the guys hanging by the cigarettes and the trio.

Bambam even made to speak to them and ask what the fuck their problems were before they heard Jaebum and Hoseok shouting from outside.

“What the-” Bambam started, his question answered with the sound of Hoseok’s gun firing and the screech of car tires. “Oh, shit,” He quickly turned, seeing the two guys pull out their own guns and point it right at them, “ _Oh,_ _shit-_ Ji!”

Jisoo darted out of the bathroom at the sound of her name, keys clutched in her hand when one of the guys pointed their weapon right at her.

“Hey, hey! We don't mean any harm... just let her return the keys and we can leave, alright?” Jackson said, walking in front of Taehyung and Bambam with his hands up by his sides, making eye contact with the youngest before sliding his hand down to his belt, acting like he was adjusting his pants when they both saw.

He wanted Bambam to grab his gun.

Jisoo gulped, inching towards the cashier with the keys between her fingers before she dropped them on the counter, slowly putting her hands up by her head soon after.

It seemed like everyone was holding their breath at once, waiting for the next move when a crisp shot came through the glass windows of the store, moving fast and piercing a chip display right by them.

Then… all Hell broke loose.

Taking the shot as their collective response, the guys shot at Jisoo - who luckily already anticipated it, pushing the unfortunate cashier in front of her as a human shield before dipping down below the desk, rummaging through the contents for _anything_ before she located a gun, holding it in surprisingly steady hands.

She shot at one of the men before they could even see it coming.

Taehyung and Bambam snapped out of their shock, giving each other a quick nod before pushing down some food displays, creating an obstacle between them and the last guy standing.

“Run!” Jackson yelled, quickly helping Jisoo over the counter as they bolted out of the door and booked it to the Jeep that was already running and ready to go.

Jisoo screamed as she ran when bullets were placed in men coming for them as they ran out, falling to ground beside them and dropping like flies. None of them even noticed how _many_ there were.

Actually, if Bambam didn’t know any better, he’d say they were fucking _followed_ here from the moment they left that house.

“Get in - it’s go time!” Hoseok shouted from the sunroof with his pistol in hand, tapping on the roof as soon as last ass hit the seats to signal Jaebum to take off.

The six of them, save for a shocked Taehyung, were all yelling different things at once. Directions for Jaebum, Jaebum's directions for them (‘ _get down’,_ mostly) were all being bounced around the truck mixed with fearful yells when a bullet cut too close. Hoseok was mainly shooting out of the sunroof, only coming back down to curse and check his bullets. Jaebum even had to pull out his own gun and try to shoot _while_ he was driving.

Needless to say, the four were were _constantly_ in awe watching with these two defend them tooth and nail.

“Why the fuck are they following us?!” Jackson yelled, Hoseok came back down just at that moment.

“The cartel definitely heard about the house, the dead men. They sent people after us, but all we gotta do is lose them and get to the airway without these assholes on us!”

Jaebum made a sharp turn, making them all rock violently to the left.

“Airway?!” Taehyung questioned, eyes huge and bloodshot.

“Mark!” Hoseok yelled back, sending a grateful look to Bambam when he handed him his gun. “He sent a jet, take us like an hour to get there, but it’ll get us right home - no passports, _no_ _bullshit!”_

Hoseok went back up, Taehyung looked right at Bambam for more explanation. “A cargo plane. Nobody will suspect us this late at night.” Bambam peeked out of the window to see the SUV following them. _“Maybe!”_

In the front, Jisoo demanded Jaebum's gun from him down from her spot below him on the floor the passenger seat, getting an automatic, very expected, _“Hell no!”_ from the man.

But that was before she started cursing up a storm and _demanding it,_ which led to a compromise of her rolling down her window a little more than half-way and shooting anyway. Jaebum swerved nervously, constantly checking on her from the side while the rest of them that weren't shooting told him to _keep his god damn eyes on the road._

It was pretty damn scary, having a car chase and shootout on that dark, never ending highway - but they’d all be lying if it wasn't the coolest experience of the trip. Seeing Jisoo go from crying in Jaebum's arms to taking his gun and managing to shoot the tires of the vehicle as he’d been trying to do the entire time was kind of legendary.

They heard the vehicle behind them swerve violently, Jisoo immediately popping back in the truck with a shaky yet triumphant smile. She got them.

Hoseok took a few more shots for himself, having for sure taken everyone out that he could so they were totally home-free.

The six of them watched as the black SUV tumbled and swerved off of the highway in a heap, yelling in victory and relief as they left the tailing vehicle fade away in the distance.

Slowly, they all rose up, sitting normally in the seats with bated breath.

Bambam looked right at Jackson, who looked right back at him. He felt so tired, so done with being chased and targeted - he just wanted to go home _._

But when they did, Jackson wouldn't be with him anymore. Taehyung wouldn't be with him anymore. Jaebum, Jisoo, and Hoseok would go back to business and he'd be all alone.

He didn't know if he could handle that after all this.

“We should ditch the Jeep.” Jackson broke the silence after a while, receiving dirty looks and mutters from the five in response. _“Seriously,_ this truck belongs to one of them… they probably have a tracking device on this shit or something - they're the cartel _._ The police don't even fuck with them.”

Hoseok rubbed his tired eyes, running his hands through his auburn hair. “Blondie’s right, Jae. We should ditch it when we’re close enough and walk the rest. Can't risk anything happening at takeoff.”

Jaebum sighed, looking back at the trio damn near knocked out in the back. “Fine... get some sleep now. Since we’ll be walking later.”

He turned up the radio, speeding up on the highway and bopping his head to the music to keep _himself_ awake as he enjoyed the last stretch of miles in his dream car. Hoseok smiled at his best friend, dropping his head in shame before joining in the jam session, ignoring the annoyed groans from the sleepy four. Hey, they _survived_ the Mexican cartel. If they wanted to rock out, _they were gonna fucking rock out._

Bambam was already curled up against the window asleep, Jisoo too, which left Jackson and Taehyung awake in the backseat.

The blonde was about to follow suit before Taehyung tapped him, leaning forward so he could hear him over the obnoxious music they were playing.

“Keep him safe.” Taehyung said in his ear, Jackson leaning back with a confused expression before the redhead repeated himself once more. “I don't care what you do with the others… with Mark. Make sure you got _him,_ ‘cus nobody else will, you hear me?”

Jackson looked in his eyes, trying to find an explanation without asking, but all he saw when Taehyung stared back at him was exhaustion. And knowing.

He was talking about keeping Bambam safe, that much he knew. But the thing about Mark… he couldn't know _Jackson_ was supposed to take him down, what he was really here for. Could he?

“Don't ask me nothin’. Just know our kidnappers were _very_ observant of you, talkin’ about you. I think they’re right.” Taehyung looked up at Jaebum and Hoseok who were still singing to the songs on the radio before leaning closer to the blonde. “I’m not gonna stop you, you know. But I'm done. When we get home…”

Jackson just said the first thing in his mind.

“You’re gonna tell Bambam.”

Taehyung looked at him and laughed. “Ain't my burden to carry. _I_ wouldn't tell. But as ironic as it is… he hates secrets.” the redhead looked down at the younger and sighed.

“It’s too late for the rest of em’. They're gonna get busted, killed… just... Bammie’s had enough. He...he did me _dirty,_ alright… but he still deserves a chance at life. Like, a real life… don't you think?”

The blonde didn't show any reaction on his face, careful not giving his real self - _Jackson Wang,_ away to an affiliate of this mob, but Kim Taehyung became more than that.

On this trip, all five of them became more than their case profiles, and it was frightening. They were more than evidence, more than criminals or affiliates. They were people protecting each other. And as much as he didn't agree with their methods, he couldn't knock that.

He glanced down at the beautiful man asleep on his lap.

_“You said you were here for me now, right?”_

Jackson looked up at the redhead with a raw conviction, a pureness in his eyes that didn't belong to the world they were wrapped up in. Taehyung could see how the kidnappers picked it up so easily. For Jackson's sake, he hoped he’d be the only one that could.

“I won't… I won’t let anything happen to him.”

Taehyung took a long look at him after that, Jackson not breaking the contact either. He wondered if Taehyung believed what he just said.

“As far as Angel goes… do whatever the hell you want and make it good.” Taehyung smirked. Jackson assumed ‘Angel’ referred to Mark. Another addition to the list of things he’d have to ask Bambam about.

“Don't let him steal any more chances from people. And don't let anyone steal yours.”

The redhead leaned back in his seat after that, leaving Jackson alone with his thoughts, a hazel-eyed beauty in his lap with one too many chances, and a burning hole in his pocket where the foundation of a friendship lied and the beginning of something dangerous began.

He dug the silver pendant out of his pocket, grabbing the redheads hand and placing it back in his care where it belonged. Taehyung stared down at the jewelry, holding it in his palm before closing in his fist turning his head away from the blonde, wiping at teary eyes in the reflection of the jeep windows so he couldn't see him. Nothing would be the same.

When the vehicle came to a stop, they all started to slip out of their seats, giving the truck one last glance before they started their journey without it for good.

Jaebum tapped the truck's roof one last time before Hoseok pulled him along the long, hot path of the gravelly road. Taehyung and Jisoo walked right behind them, Bambam and Jackson were trailing the group from a little ways off.

“Bammie, come here a sec?” The redhead stopped, digging inside of his pocket and pulling out the picture of the deceased man. He didn't want to keep this. He’d have the burden of it for the rest of his life, and he loved to keep heirlooms, but this was one he _couldn't_ have.

The younger stopped beside him, seeming to understand the moment when he brought out his cigarette lighter and handed it over to Taehyung. He nodded, continuing on the path to give him the time alone.

“Stay…” he called the raven haired man, the tone of his voice making him and everyone else cease walking to look back at him.

Bambam watched as Jaebum, Hoseok and Jisoo crowded around them, saying nothing as the redhead struck the lighter. Jackson was standing across from Bambam and Taehyung, watching as the orange flame caught the corners of the photo, starting to engulf the image as it was clutched between his fingers.

It was a sacred moment, the way everyone had quieted down and watched the picture melt and disfigure when it was dropped onto the ground. It was dark, but he knew Taehyung was crying, he even saw Bambam’s eyes becoming a little teary. It felt private, this moment, yet it also felt like something they all needed to see.

“This trip, all the shit we’ve gone through. We're leaving it all here right now. And I’ve seen _a lot_ of shit, but this was the definitely the brunt of it.” Hoseok broke the silence, everyone looking to the male as he spoke.

Jisoo sniffled a bit, lifting her head off of Jaebum's chest and stepping up to speak. “He’s right. We shouldn't have to carry this.” She looked right at Taehyung. _“You_ shouldn't.”

Jaebum looked down at the burning picture, taking the cigarette between his lips and tapping the side so the ashes would spill into the fire. “I saw a side of all of you I never thought I’d see. I think we’re stronger now. Not to sound _corny_ or anything, but it was badass.”

They all chuckled at this, even Taehyung who looked extremely touched by the moment to say the least. Jackson kept his arms crossed, choosing to stay silent while they others had their moment. This wasn't his place.

“Let's go the fuck home, huh. I need a bed.” Taehyung kicked dirt onto the fire as the others clapped him on the shoulder, offering encouraging words and many doting hugs and kisses from Jisoo that made them all laugh.

Taehyung walked ahead with Jisoo and Jaebum beside him, Hoseok leading and offering some jokes to lift the mood, leaving Jackson and Bambam in the back trailing behind them on their own.

For a while, neither spoke. They just listened to the sound of their shoes against the gravel.

“Hey… back at the motel, that party… you meant all that, didn't you?” Bambam had walked closer to the blonde, hands by his sides as he looked around the dark trees. He sounded insecure, an emotion he seemed to suppress despite having so much of it.

“Yeah,” Jackson let out a puff of breath, keeping his gaze ahead when he felt their fingers brush together. He grabbed his hand. “I meant it all.”

Bambam bit his lip at the feeling of their fingers intertwining. Jackson full out grinned when the other started to childishly swing their arms between them.

The full moon shone down on the group as they continued walking down the tar road.

Taehyung wondered when they’d get home. 

Bambam wondered how he would adapt to the impending changes to come, the change of everyone in the group.

As Jackson looked down at the raven haired man and their eyes connected… he just wondered how many chances he had before it was all over.

 

 

**END OF ACT III**


	8. ACT 4 PART I

   **ACT 4 PT I: SAME SUN, SAME MOON**

 

  
_**25 OCTOBER 1986 11:55 PM** _  
_**DYNASTY HOTEL, SAN DIEGO CA** _

  
“I’m sure you’re wondering why I whisked you away like this all alone.”

“Nah, not really. Just...just figured you wanted my company.”

Jackson faked leisure well, sitting back in the plush, plum colored chairs of the office.

“And you obliged.”

“Did I really have a choice?”

“You wouldn’t have turned it down if you did.”

Taken back, the blonde’s expression fell blank and the brunette giggled gleefully, almost out of character to the quiet, strong demeanor he usually held.

“Anyways,” Jackson started, leaning his elbows forward onto the desk. He scanned the neatly organized area, how everything was placed alphabetically, almost meticulously done. Mark didn’t mind Jackson messing with the order, clicking a pen and placing it back with the pencils. He guessed the order wasn’t his own idea.

“Why _did_ you call me here? My dashing good looks and charm?”

Mark gave him a smile and a small shake of his head before turning away to another part of the room, the brief break letting Jackson drop his smirk and survey the room even more.

Not even an hour earlier, Jackson had been with Namjoon in a discreet homebase (the back room of the chinese restaurant he now lives above) piecing together all of the evidence they’d gathered. Jackson decided it was best for him to touch back down at Dynasty as soon as possible not to lose momentum—and to get Namjoon to stop prying into forbidden topics he wanted to keep locked up, aka most of that horrid excuse of a vacation Mark sent him off on.

Jackson hadn’t been in the building for five minutes before one of Mark’s employees came rushing up saying the “boss” wanted to speak to him.

“Sort of.” There was a bottle of champagne and a couple flutes in Mark’s hand when he turned around. It was a different bottle than the signature one from the club. Jackson grabbed the glass that was set in front of him.

“What do you mean?”

Mark popped open the bottle, holding it away in case anything spilled out. “I know it’s probably a sore spot now but,” He paused to out some of the drink into Jackson’s glass, humming in response to his thanks. “Do you have any… guesses on why I invited you to the yacht party in the first place?”

“No,” Jackson wrinkled his brows in thought, “I mean, not anymore really. I thought you were being nice and extending the invite. I thought we were going to like… hang out or somethin’. I was thinking _‘why throw a party you wouldn’t attend?’_ you know.”

He felt himself start to ramble and he quickly cut himself short. It didn’t seem to bother Mark a bit. In fact, he looked amused. “You’re not totally off the mark,” the brunette sipped his drink, “I did want to see more of you, of course. But not from my own eyes.”

Jackson was one hundred percent positive his confusion showed all over his face.

“But—okay, what about the party itself? Is that another rich-boy activity? Throwing parties just to not show up?”

Mark smirked. “You sound upset about that.”

“Right, sue me for being a bit eager after you left me with blue balls last time. I thought your boyfriend was gonna fuckin’ murder me and stain those nice couches with blood—for the record, _that_ was kind of a shock.”

Mark threw his head back to laugh, an adorable high pitched sound that threw the blonde off his game every time he heard it. “The couches or the boyfriend?”

_“Mark.”_

“Okay, okay, on a serious note...” The brunette circled invisible patterns over the hardwood of the desk, “I did have an ulterior motive in inviting you specifically, but I’ll touch on that later.”

Jackson rose his brows, waiting for more.

“I take it you know who I am now, don’t you?”

Oh, that he did. And he needed a lot more to to be able to take him down.

“You’re Mark Tuan… really rich, uh… dangerous, business owner.” Jackson started, hoping to get the older to finish his sentence himself. Namjoon, while he didn’t get to pry as far as he wanted, made sure Jackson wore a wire—and kept it on—if he was ever going to be around Mark again.

“And the son of another rich, dangerous 'business owner'.” Mark responded, a humorless chuckle after the fact.

“...Raymond Tuan.”

Just uttering the name sent a chill down Jackson’s spine, even if that’s all he’d been hearing around the station since he got his job and probably knew more about this man than his own son at this point in the game.

Mark nodded, bringing a pen to his lips, “As much as he loves to hide that… even if it’s all people think of reminding me of when I tell them.”

Jackson echoed the man from earlier. “You sound upset about that.”

The blonde wasn’t an idiot by any means. He saw the tension across his face when his father came up. Though daddy issues were probably very common among the sons of drug lords and mob bosses, this was something he had to explore. For the sake of every lost life caused by that family.

When they locked gazes this time, it looked like Mark was staring right through his entire being.

“Does it scare you? Knowing who I am. Knowing that if I suddenly became tired of you…”

Jackson gulped, looking down into his glass that was running lower and lower on alcohol the longer this conversation bled on. “I think that would make anyone piss a little. But you aren’t tired yet, are you?” Mark continued to stare, narrowing his eyes a little as the officer continued.

“After a month, you’re calling me in. I’d say i’m doing pretty well, huh?”

The brunette shook his head, waving away the subject with his hand and a sip of his champagne.

“You ever wonder why the explosion on the atlantic had no kind of media coverage? Who was behind it?”

Jackson did. Many sleepless nights for a month straight. He searched high and low, every newspaper, every source at the station—nothing ever turned up.

“Well I assume it wasn’t you?”

Mark looked at him like he was senile. Jackson felt his heart drop.

“Is _that_ who you think I am? People I care about were hurt too.” Mark clenched his jaw, gripping the pen in his hands so hard Jackson already mourned the loss of it. “—Some even jumped off that boat! Weren’t as lucky as you guys, of course.”

Jackson’s mouth opened and closed around nothing for a few seconds. The way Mark looked, he knew he was at least telling part of the truth right now.

Then he said the only thing he could think of.

“I’m sorry.”

Mark closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Don’t fucking say that to me.”

Jackson shifted in his seat, watching Mark let out a deep breath before his expression fell back from dangerous into his regular neutrality. “You know, J-Hope and JB... they said you handled yourself better than they thought… better than any other random bystander would, actually.”

 _Oh no_. His heartbeat started to pick up.

“I-I was trained in martial arts for a short time.”

Mark quirked his brow, asking for a challenge. “You’re a good shot.”

“Gun range with my father.” Jackson hurriedly answered, “Plus when the Mexican cartel wants to _kill_ you, you find a way.”

Mark’s gaze flickered from Jackson’s, choosing to focus on an undetermined point in the room right behind him. Jackson didn’t know if it was just him, but Mark seemed… _off_ today. The first time he met him, there weren’t nearly as many silences.

Maybe the guy is just tired. Processing things.

“So, where is he?… your father.”

Well, that was unexpected.

The thing was, this guy… this character Jackson was supposed to be portraying was nothing but a delinquent. He had a deadbeat dad story at the tip of his tongue ready to _not-discuss_ with the right targets. He figured they would understand, maybe relate at the best case scenario.

Dead or alive, that man didn’t matter to Jackson _Wen._

“Too personal?” Mark rose his brows at him, looking like he expected an answer like that. It was a pretty personal question no matter who the hell was asking, but Jackson had to stay on his radar in every way possible.

Even if he didn’t know why Mark would ask him something like that—or even care.

“No.” Jackson started, looking away from the heir. “There just wouldn’t be much to say, seeing that he’s been dead for a while now.”

Jackson decided on that. Just to limit the questions and guide the conversation as far from his personal life as possible. His real father was very much alive and well and he had absolutely nothing to do with this shit.

“Ah.”

Mark didn’t offer any condolences and sure as hell didn’t say he's ‘sorry’. He just nodded, like they were discussing any old thing which wasn’t too weird. Very… apathetic, maybe even rude depending on who you asked. But Jackson didn’t expect anything more from him.

Mark leaned back in his chair, eyes dropping from Jackson’s down to his desk. Then they flickered to the black shiny phone on the edge of the desk before he looked at Jackson again.

“Honestly, I didn’t think you’d ever come near me again...”

 _Wow._ Mark almost sounded _remorseful_ for a second.

“So, this is rare, but I apologize. For putting you in a fucked up situation. You could’ve lost your life back there.”

Jackson fought the urge to roll his eyes at the man in front of him. Now he was concerned about his life?

“You ended up having to depend on each other to survive and fend for yourselves even.” When Jackson looked up, Mark was sifting through his desk drawer. “That told me everything I needed to know about you.”

Ridiculous. He didn’t believe one damn word coming out of Mark’s mouth right now, so he kept quiet. Jackson watched ruefully as he placed a lighter to his cigar. Why the young man was even smoking a cigar like that was beyond him. He looked beyond his years when he did it, but it was obvious he wasn’t a regular about it.

“So we couldn’t just play 20 questions or somethin’ instead of traumatizing me for life?”

“You look just fine to me.” Mark said, giving him a once over that made Jackson want to squirm in his seat.

“That’s the point.”

Mark lowered his cigar, pointing the fiery end at his face. “You helped protect them the entire time, Jackson. You kept JB and J-Hope covered, Jisoo safe, Bambam in line, V alive— hell, i’m sure you saw he isn’t cut out for this lifestyle,”

Jackson’s left eye twitched. He hated the way Mark talked about Taehyung. The expression on his face was eerily similar to Taehyung’s when he spoke of him but less.. _. disgusted._

“I don’t even know how the hell he got off the yacht… but I guess I have Bambam’s loyalty to thank for that, don’t I?”

In fact, he seemed disappointed.

“V didn’t really have a choice in this situation,” Jackson said, trying not to let the anger seep into his voice. “None of us knew what was gonna happen, Mark.”

“There’s always a choice.” He said it so simply, the condescending tone made Jackson want to blow up. Mark wasn’t there, he didn’t see shit. How the hell would _he_ know what the fuck choices they could’ve made?

“You could’ve ran away and left them all to burn, but you didn’t. Shit, you didn’t even have to come!” Mark licked his lips, lowering his voice again. “You either stay alive and fight or _die_ at the hands of the enemy. V needed to learn that.”

“I-It’s not that simple.”

“The cartel didn’t care how pretty he was, did they?”

“What does that—”

_“Did they?”_

No.

No, they didn’t.

They called him crazy and he didn’t give a damn. Taehyung had given up as soon as they got their hands on him. But this was different. Mark didn’t know what they had went through before. Mark didn’t know what Taehyung had told him, what he had done to save them. He had blood on his hands too.

 

_“What difference does it make? Look at us. Look where we are. If it wasn't the yacht, it woulda been somethin’ else. Dynasty is toxic. Mark Tuan… he’s fucking toxic.”_

 

From the way the brunette was acting, it looked like everyone had kept Taehyung’s secret—even JB and J-Hope.

Jackson jumped when Mark barked out a laugh at his sudden drawback, the conflict all over his features.

“He got to you, didn’t he?” Mark chuckled, taking another draw of the cigar, pausing to let the pungent smoke swirl around the room. “You gotta let people like that go no matter how nice they seem. They’re very weak. Especially addicts.”

 _Addicts?_ What did that have to do with Taehyung? Jackson exhaled, feeling his patience dwindle. It seemed like the closer he got to some answers, the more questions popped up in their place.

Jackson had to get to the bottom of this.

“Why do you care, Mark? What do you want from me?”

Mark stopped laughing, the smooth transition in Jackson’s dialect making his brows rise—or maybe it was his defiant tone. Fuck it. He was portraying a delinquent. Defiance was apart of that.

 _“You.”_ Mark replied back in Mandarin just as smoothly.

“Work with me and I’ll make up for everything. Whatever you want, I’ll double it—triple it.  
“Why…”

“Cause’ I believe in you. I believe in what we can do just that much, _Jackson Wen.”_

Jackson’s palms started to sweat. This is exactly what he was waiting for. The offer he wanted—needed to receive from the beginning.

He was finally in.

“You wanted to see how I fought. If I came out alive...” The answers came to Jackson like a hit rushing through his veins, making his heart beat a million times per second. “You _knew_ somethin’ was gonna go left, you made sure I was there.”

Mark scoffed, but shifted in his seat at Jackson’s growing excitement. “I didn’t think I would lose five fuckin’ million and my whole boat…”

“Besides that, you knew something. It was a regular mission for you with the trade intended to happen, right? I didn’t even know until your guys started freaking the fuck out about lost money rather than lives—“ Jackson felt the adrenaline fueling what felt like anger when he gripped the chair arms tightly, digging his nails into the fabric.

He had to calm down. He had to remember why he was here, what this was for.

“You wanted me to know... you wanted to see who you really are. Am I right?”

Mark, rather than seething and snapping at Jackson like he expected for exposing his angle, just stared at him from his seat with the most satisfied expression he’d ever seen on his overly pretty face.

He responded back in English again.

“At least _one_ of my plans worked out.”

“Why me?”

“Stop asking me that,” Mark laughed, putting down his cigar. _“Why not?_ Don’t think you can handle it?”

He got up from his chair, Jackson kept his head down. The brunette walked around the desk, leaning his lithe body against the front of it. Right where Jackson was sat. All he saw were his shoes.

“I don’t offer this gift to just anyone. The last time I did was just a year ago for the first time.” Mark explained to a silent Jackson.

He liked the blonde on him, but the brunette was even better in his eyes. It made him look unassuming, innocent, good. And Mark knew from the first time he saw Jackson, he was essentially good.

“Jackson, look at me.”

But just as sure as he was, the exciting part was that he knew it could be altered.

There was something below the surface, something childishly curious in his eyes. Something passionate and fierce, desperate to be on the right side when his choices pointed towards the left. He followed his heart more than his mind.

The fact he was here right now could attest to that fact.

Anybody else would’ve ran for the hills after what he’d seen. Jackson was different. All Mark had to do was show him, his side was the best side he could ever be on.

“Stand up.”

The blonde slowly lifted his gaze. His stomach twisted and contorted when he was faced with the barrel of a gun in his face.

“You wanna know why I like you so much?” Mark dragged the the cold metal of the gun up Jackson’s torso when he stood, holding back a smirk when he felt it run over the rough planes of his abs.

“You’re so good and righteous… you don’t even know what to do with yourself.”

Jackson felt the chilly metal tracing his jawline. Mark couldn’t help but smirk at the way his breath hitched when he placed the gun firm under his chin.

Mark was so close to him, deep brown eyes staring into his, his other hand lightly trailing down his torso.

He forgot about this part of his target. He was coarse when it came to getting what and who he wanted on his side.

 _“M-Mark.”_ The blonde stammered, shutting his eyes tight when Mark’s other hand reached into his hair and tugged it backwards, exposing his neck. Jackson groaned, the opening of his mouth providing the perfect timing for the brunette to lick into his, guiding them into a heated kiss.

The gun moved to his temple. He heard his finger flip the safety off. The room was so quiet compared to the hustle and bustle of the hotel below.

Jackson’s wire was wrapped around his chest.

“You think i’m sick, don’t you? I drug you into this mess for my own gain... _be mean to me, Jackson,”_ Mark urged on almost desperately, yet his eyes flashed with a glint of something mischievous that sent a chill down Jackson’s spine. “I can take it.”

“Can you?” Jackson started, pulling Mark closer to him by the gold buckle of his belt. His jewelry glistened against his skin in the dimly lit room. It was dark, the only light came from the desk lamp beside them, but when he pressed his hand against the crotch of Mark’s jeans, he didn’t need the light to see how his pupils dilated.

“Jackson, tell me.” Mark glared, his sharp teeth biting his bottom one as the blonde continued. “Tell me how much you despise me, how _evil_ you think I am—hell, you know my father. Apple doesn't fall too far from the tree. Look at me like everyone else.”

His voice wavered that time. He didn’t let himself analyze anything else when there was still a gun to his head.

“Why should I join you, Tuan?” Jackson’s breath was heavy, the feeling of Mark growing underneath his hand making his own hitch. “Thanks to you i’ve seen people die before my eyes—wasn’t my dad enough for you?”

Jackson knew this was some game Mark was playing, so he played along. He laid it on thick, whatever could get him the truth. He ran his hands through the soft brunette strands like he was the most precious thing to him. “I-I can’t even fuckin’ sleep anymore.”

“Sleep is for the weak,” Mark tightened his grip on the gun, eyes half lidded, already looking wrecked as ever for what little they did. “Even if it’s with your underling.”

Mark just didn’t give a fuck.

 _“Wow…”_ Jackson drug his thumb over his bottom lip, “You get off on it. The love of your life could walk in any minute and you don’t even care.”

Mark moaned low and deep then, grinding his body even closer to the blonde. “I said s-sorry about Mexico, n-not about this.” He said through gritted teeth, mouth falling open in complete pleasure when he felt Jackson grind even harder against him.

As he was doing this, all Jackson could think about was a certain dark haired man who was probably just outside the door, down at the club, completely unsuspecting of his presence right now.

_What would he be like? panting and grinding up under Jackson, submitting to him with a gun to his head to keep the power till the end._

“I was right about you.” the leader whispered, a silent glee illuminating his face when he pressed the gun further into his temple.

“You don’t even know me. I could be the biggest mistake you ever made,” Jackson murmured, eyes falling closed at the feel of the weapon.

“Maybe,” Mark chuckled, moving the gun back down his body, to the outline of his hardening member on his thigh. Jackson hissed at the feeling, a shudder going down his spine. “At least you’re dressed better this time.”

Mark pushed Jackson back with his arm, holding the gun up to his forehead before pressing the finger to the trigger. The blonde shut his eyes, all the bated breath leaving his body when he heard the click of the gun.

It was dead silent in the room.

“I have a silencer on it, no one would hear a thing. Even if you scream now.” Mark tilted his head to the side, “My office is soundproof. But that’s for a completely different reason.”

Jackson licked his lips, Mark followed the movement with his eyes before standing up straight. This was a dangerous line he was treading, but after witnessing what he had so far, everything else didn’t seem so scary anymore.

“It’s a yes or no question. Are you joining me… or not.”

The blonde inched closer to him with his hands up.

“I have someone to protect.”

“What—”

Jackson grabbed Mark’s arm, twisting the gun out of his hands and throwing it on the ground beside them. Mark’s mouth dropped open in shock, but he didn’t have much time to say shit when Jackson flipped him around, pinning him to the desk.

“So, yeah. I’ll join your little gang.”

After a moment of hard glaring, Jackson loosened his grip on Mark’s arm and let the man lay back on the desk before him. They stared at each other, chests heaving from exertion. He looked down the gun laid abandoned on the floor below them. He could’ve shot Mark right there and ended it all himself.

“Who is it?” Mark asked, voice lower than before. “Taehyung, I bet...” He let his actual name slip with no care in the world, looking at Jackson like he was a child who brought a diseased cat home and wanted to keep it. “Did you guys...fuck or something? He’s a _slut_ when hes drunk, you know.”

There was something vulnerable about Mark that slipped through if you watched him close enough. But it was gone right after, like a piece of paper blowing in the street. Jackson zoned out, but was brought back to when Mark wrapped his legs around his waist as he hovered over him on the desk. His hands found their way to the bottom of Jackson’s shirt, attempting to lift it up past his abs.

The blonde found his words again, grabbing his hands and pinning them down. “Is that why you wanted to see me? You jealous?”

Mark rolled his eyes. “So it’s not him.”

Jackson loosened the buttons on Mark’s shirt, immediately attacking his chest to draw attention away from his own. “I got close to everyone on that trip. Maybe it’s Jisoo, she’s a beautiful girl.”

“JB would murder you, Hope is with Jim— _oh god,”_ Mark moaned out, feeling Jackson’s tongue lap over his nipple. After a few seconds, a few tremors through his body, he hit his mark.

“I-It’s Bambam, isn’t it?”

Jackson stiffened in his hold. Curse his stupid fucking body for reacting before his brain. There was no way Mark didn’t notice that.

The brunette tightened his grip on Jackson’s shoulders.

“I don’t even know him that way.”

“Don’t lie to me.” Mark growled out, grabbing Jackson hair and tugging him roughly from his chest. Jackson and him held eye contact for a minute straight, the blonde holding it defiantly trying to steer the suspicion before Mark pushed his head away.

The atmosphere changed.

There was a moment where Mark just sat there staring hard at nothing, looking like he was working out quantum physics in his own head. Jackson adjusted his shirt, his hard dick in his jeans making it awkward to move.

 _“There had to be something…_ ” Mark whispered, more to himself than anything. Why the man thought Jackson was so perfect and for what was something to be dwelled upon later. Right now, he was worried he threw the one person he really cared about in a line of fire—literally.

But Mark just laughed. Jackson looked up from the floor, probably looking so confused it was humorous.

“I’d warn you but I know it’s too late.”

“Warn me? For what? You think he’s weak too?”

Mark rolled his neck distractedly, leaving Jackson to stare at the gun on the floor. He bent down to pick it up, curiously messing around with it before he froze.

“These are full of blanks.”

Mark smirked, running his hands through his disheveled hair. “Caught me.” he spread his legs again, leaning back on his elbows. “Don’t act like you didn’t know. I still need you.”

“And what happens when you’re done?” Jackson walked over to the desk, laying the gun down beside Mark.

“Done what?” The man just looked up at him curiously, surveying his sudden quiet demeanor.

“Needing me”

Mark’s expression hardened. “If you really think you can’t handle it, don’t join.”

“I can handle it. You know why I agreed.”

“Yeah, I heard you the first time, _idiot._ I’m giving you a chance to be smart.” Mark sat up straight, straightened out his clothes. Guess Jackson killed the mood.

“Bambam cannot be protected. He’s only concerned with himself.” The brunette looked up at Jackson. “Listen Jackson, I get it. He’s hot and young, charisma for days. But once you fuck up and think there’s more below the surface, you’ll end up dragging yourself down trying to dig for it.”

“That doesn’t mean I can’t—”

“He’s _damaged,_ Jackson.”

The blonde stepped back at Mark’s outburst, eyes downturned towards the floor.

Damaged? He knew Bambam probably went through a hell of a lot at his age, but wasn’t that a bit severe?

“Jackson,” Mark started, but before he could finish his sentence, the phone beside them started blaring loud and clear. The blonde thanked whoever above for it, not really thinking he could handle Mark trash talking Bambam like he did Taehyung.

But this wasn’t any normal phone call. It was like a switch in Mark had changed, his posture automatically changing back to the stiff, mob boss he was supposed to be.

_“Who is this? Yes, this is Mark.”_

Jackson watched Mark’s tongue swipe across his lips in anticipation.

_“His son. Get on with it already.”_

There was an insistent knocking on his door. The blonde took that as his cue business was back and he should take his leave, but his new boss held a finger up, effectively stopping him.

“Yien…”

A soft voice said from behind them. Jackson turned to see the clean cut boy from the last time - Jinyoung he thinks it was - bursting through the door with wide eyes and short breath as if he ran there or something. He fixed Jackson with a hard glare but did nothing beyond it. Like he knew he’d be here.

_“Mm… that’s—that’s terrible. Who the hell would do something like that?!”_

Mark’s grip tightened around the phone so hard, Jackson thought he would break it. On the outside he looked furious, but the subtle lifting of the edge of his smile reminded him of something else. Happiness. Excitement.

_“I’ll handle everything. Yeah. I’ll call you.”_

Jinyoung gulped when Mark hung the phone back on the receiver, burying his face in his shaking hands. “Mark, we need to talk alone. Now.”

“Jackson.”

The blonde looked up and so did Jinyoung, brows furrowed in worry and curiosity as he addressed him first after whatever had commenced.

“Go find Bambam. Tell him the good news.”

Jackson just sat there, mouth open but nothing exiting. It was just… peculiar, how everything had changed in a single moment. He was talking to Jackson, but his eyes were stuck on his lover, who was making his way to him like there was glass on the floor.

Whatever happened, that phone call wasn’t the last of it.

“I don’t know wh-where he lives.” Jackson gulped, looking between them both. Jinyoung let out a quick groan, writing down his number on a post it note and slapping it on Jackson’s chest.

“Now leave us. Shownu will give you a ride.”

Jackson shifted on his feet before taking his leave rather hastily, letting out a shaky breath before giving the scarce employees in the lobby quick nod before darting outside of the door.

All he could think about were Taehyung’s words when he sat in the golf cart, whizzing through the sand as the beach breeze whipped his hair into his eyes.

  
_“It’s too late for the rest of em’. They're gonna get busted, killed… just... Bammie’s had enough. … he still deserves a chance at life. Like, a real life… don't you think?”_

 

 

 _**26 OCTOBER 1986 5:30PM** _  
_**LOS ANGELES CA** _

  
Bambam prided himself on being adaptable.

Growing up on the streets of Manhattan where there was trouble on every corner, he had to be. He was the type of person who went with flow of life, didn’t argue with blessings, and let shit run it’s course. He never stressed over something he couldn’t control, and made sure to take the reigns on the shit he did—thus, leaving the impression he often does now as a newly primed drug dealer who always goes above and beyond on profit.

All of this reigns true, of course. It was why he was drawn to art, because as pretentious and stuffy as it could get, it included his favorite thing in the world.

Control.

But never once in his 20 years did he claim to be someone who never held a grudge.

It was golden hour in California. The sun broke through the windows of the hollow penthouse, shining onto the hardwood floors, bouncing off of the pre-furnished couch that desperately needed to be in a dump somewhere.

Bambam was on that very floor, face to the ceiling and his uncomfortably tight leather pants from the night before still on his hips. He woke up there, hungover, confused, disoriented. He usually never let himself get that far, never to a point where he couldn’t be on high alert.

Let’s just say, last night’s circumstances called for a couple more shots of liquor than usual.

He knew that once he sat up, he’d have to bear the headache sneaking it’s way into his cranium, the messy state he left his art room in before he left, the broken bottle of hennessy in the kitchen that he shattered once he came back from yesterday’s festivities.

The missed messages on his new fancy answering machine Mark insisted he got. All messages from him, of course.

Bambam blinked away the sleep in his eyes, rubbing them harshly before he realized something. This was the most sleep he’s gotten in a month.

_Bang! Bang! Bang!_

He was about to add onto it, finding a new position on the furry roll out carpet when he heard that incessant banging on his front fucking door. Who the hell could that be, anyway? Nobody had come by in weeks after sensing the type of mood he was in.

_Bang! Bang! Bang!_

Bambam sat up from the floor, groaning in pain as the headache he was trying to avoid hit him like a ton of bricks at a construction site.

“God—Fuck, alright I’m coming already!” He shouted, getting to his feet and dragging himself to the long distance his front door seemed to be from where he was. If he was in his right mind, he would’ve grabbed a weapon and looked through the peephole (He was affiliated with a mob these days, really anybody could be behind that door.) but he clearly was not.

When he flung open the door, ready to curse whoever on the other side out of banging like they were the FBI, he came to a complete halt.

_Oh, fuck._

By the time Bambam even registered the red hair, he was already back on the ground—this time not by his own will.

He was being pumbled by someones fists.

“Tae—Taehyung, get off!”

He didn't. The redhead landed another punch on his face, “Fuck you! I know you fucking did it you asshole!”

Bambam just barely shielded his face, being hungover and ready to shrivel up and die wasn’t the best time to be approached for a fight.

“Tae, stop! Let me explain—”

The other man just scratched at the arms he had shielding his face, trying to tear the barrier between Bambam and his fists down with any means necessary. The younger never saw him this furious, only back in Mexico.

Bambam curled up on himself, feeling the weight leave his body when Taehyung got up off of him, slamming the front door with his foot.

“Get the fuck up and face me!” Taehyung growled, picking Bambam up by his collar, who long gave up on trying to defend himself when he saw the tears collecting in his best friend’s eyes. His back was slammed against the wall, he hissed in pain but was met with nothing but a disgusting sneer from the older when he regarded him.

“Wh- What do you want, Taetae?” Bambam turned to the side, spitting blood onto the expensive hardwood. “What’dya want me to s-say, huh?!”

Bambam couldn’t act like he didn’t know what the older was talking about. Of course he did.

And he was expecting this visit during his last few moments of sobriety the night before.

“Why would you—this ain’t you, Bammie!” Taehyung tightened his grip on his jacket, taking one hand and stuffing in the pocket, pulling out a huge wad of cash from the night before. “Was it worth it?! Was this worth…”

Tears clouded Taehyung’s vision as he threw the offending notes to the ground, looking back up at the man he thought he knew inside and out. He was starting to surprise him everyday now with how ugly he could truly be.

“What did you do to him, you sick bastard! _Say it!”_

Ah. Remember the thing about grudges, earlier? There was this one Bambam couldn’t get over, no matter how much he busied himself, how long he kept himself away from where he knew he would be.

It was inevitable.

“I didn’t touch him at all.”

Taehyung’s features were no longer soft, all sneers and barred teeth probably grinding back and forth like they did when he was mad.

“You really want me to kill you, huh?” Taehyung said, pushing Bambam hard against the wall. “Huh?! Why is the only person you care about yourself!”

Bambam’s selfish? Please. Not after everything he just did in Taehyung’s sake! He had to be fucking kidding him. Bambam finally gathered some strength, shoving Taehyung away from him as hard as he could.

“Stop acting like he gave a fuck about you, Taehyung!”

The redhead faltered in his steps, almost tripping backwards, “What did you say?!”

“You know he left you to _die_ on that yacht, stop fucking making him out to be better than he was!” Bambam’s chest heaved up and down,

“I fuckin’ get it, Tae! You’re having a hard time, but don’t think he ever gave a fuck ‘cus he never did. He left you in a bathtub, passed out and disoriented just like he left you choking on your own fucking vomit several times before! And guess who had to come fucking clean you up, only for you to repeat the cycle again? _Me!”_

  
_Bambam stepped into the club he knew his redheaded companion frequented in Hollywood, in hopes of ‘running into him’ in public. He wanted to get him to move back to their ever so lonely penthouse and rekindle what they had. That, and moving product to wannabes and established industry heads to put a little extra cash in his pocket. You know, the usual._

_He was supposed to be back at Dynasty, meeting with Mark and Jinyoung about some big event they were planning, but they could go on without him. It wasn’t like they actually ever needed him._

_WIth that in mind, he easily took his baby and drove up to West Hollywood, expecting to put his ass on the line for his best friend and get his regular life back. But when he arrived, shots in hand, smirks on lips, money sliding between fingers with dime bags and contact numbers, who he ended up seeing was definitely not a tall redheaded actor with symmetrical features and a Gucci obsession._

_There was blonde hair and a slimy permanent smirk standing at the bar across the club. Not an actor, but a model. One he was sure died on a certain burning yacht like he deserved to a month prior._

_Hyungwon._

_What a fucking surprise. Bambam made a beeline towards the man, feeling in his pockets for what he needed before slipping in the seat beside him._

_“Hey, Hyungwonie.” Bambam said, dragging out the farce pet name he heard Taehyung slip out a few times when he was drunk. The blonde sharply turned around, harsh expression softened a fraction when he saw Bambam. If the younger wasn’t mistaken, after a second he saw something like confusion and fear in his eyes._

_He knows what he did._

_“Whats up, Bambam? Need a drink?” The blonde played it off well, ordering the two of them drinks on his tab and leaning against the counter. He was watching the crowd, squinting his eyes over it. As if he was looking for someone. That gave Bambam just as much time as he needed._

_“Taehyung’s not here, Hyungwon.”_

_“Hm.” Hyungwon shrugged, ignoring Bambam’s smile one he took a sip of his drink. Bambam didn’t miss how his expression faltered. He didn’t know whether Tae was dead or alive. “Busy guy, of course…”_

_“Yeah, very.” Bambam swirled the drink around in his glass. “Shit happens like that when you stop hanging out with assholes who leave you when you need them most, huh?”_

_Hyungwon turned around sharply to the younger, gripping his glass tightly in his hands. Bambam doesn’t know why the hell Tae even hung out with this guy._

_“I-I didn’t—”_

_“Save it for someone who gives a fuck.” The younger bit out harshly, catching the eye of the bartender. “People like you… they always get theirs in the end anyway.” Bambam slipped off of the stool, slipping a c-note to the bartender before stepping out onto the dancefloor. “Have a nice life, Hyungwon.”_

  
“Bambam, i-it’s _wrong...._ wasn’t my mistake enough? What the fuck is happening with you anymore?”

“Maybe i’m just evil,” The younger chuckled, wiping his bloody lip. He pretended not see the way Taehyung flinched when he stepped towards him, like he was total stranger. “That’s the reason you’re always beatin’ my fuckin’ ass, right?”

Taehyung tugged at his hair in frustration. “Tell me what you did, i’m fuckin’ serious!”

“I told you. I didn’t even touch him. He had a bad drink, probably left the club and stumbled into the right guys to give him what he deserved. Not my fault karma works, Taehyung.”

Bambam felt his face throbbing.

“It ain’t like you loved ‘em. So why the hell do you care what happens to that piece of shit?”

“Love has nothing to do with it! That piece of shit was there for me when you were too busy trying to impress Mark to make time for your best friend.” Taehyung snapped, finger pointed right in his face. “You tend to forget how the fuck these shitty things start, just to make yourself look good! God, It’s not all about you.”

Bambam looked away, forgoing the disappointment in his eyes for some abstract art he painted on his wall. “You didn’t need him. No one did. He was nothing but trash and you know it.”

The redhead let out a strangled sound, wiping away tears that sprang to his eyes.

“And that’s exactly where they found the body this morning. In the trash.”

Bambam watched Taehyung slide down to the ground, burying his head in his hands. He turned the other way, fingers unconsciously pressing against his bloody face.

“I don’t know what you want me to do.”

The redhead shook his head, sniffling and wiping at his eyes like an upset child. Bambam crossed his arms, all the words he wanted to say jumped around his muddled mind.

_Aren’t you happy he’s gone? He can’t hurt you anymore._

_Are you okay?_

_Where do you stay now?_

“—You’ve been using again.” Bambam blurted that out instead. Taehyung sucked in a breath, bloodshot glare so sharp it could decapitate him.

“And you smell like a fucking bar,” Taehyung murmured, staring down at his feet. “How else am I supposed to cope? _Therapy?”_

Taehyung’s eyes had bags under them, now that he got a closer look. His clothes didn’t look nearly as put together as usual, nor his hair. He wondered how his career was going while he was in this state. If it was still going.

“One word and we’d be thrown in fucking prison where we belong.”

Bambam sighed, assuming the fight was over when he walked past Taehyung into the bathroom.

He rummaged through the medicine cabinet for some kind of antiseptic, bandages, a cold cloth the press against his burning face. He rinsed his mouth out, not even bothering to grimace at the sharp, metallic taste of his blood as it ran down the drain.

_“This place is fucking mess…”_

He heard Taehyung mutter from what must have been the kitchen, before he heard the sound the broom against his floor. He was sweeping the glass up. Bambam didn’t even know why the man was still here.

He stared at the sink, zoning out for a while before he finally blinked. Painkillers. That’s what he really needed. He grabbed the orange bottle, dumping two in his hand and swallowing dry. Bambam stared at his reflection in the mirror. His hair was messy, his lip was busted (again), his face was definitely gonna swell up.

Had he deserved it? _Probably._

Was he really evil? _Maybe._

For the safety and wellbeing of his best friend, he’d be anything he had to. Even if said best friend hated his guts right now. Clearing that thought from his mind, Bambam filled the extra wide sink to the brim with cold water, pulling the stopper up once it was full. He dipped two fingers in, testing the temperature so it was right. When he deemed it so, he took in a huge breath, dipping his face into the water. Shivers went down his spine at the temperature, goosebumps rising all over his body at the sensation.

_One...Two...Three!_

He opened his eyes under water, staring down at the bottom of his sink. It was exhilarating for a while, as usual, and for a moment things felt normal. Until they didn’t.

The water became darker under there than it was before, causing him to slightly panic, making bubbles rise to the surface. He blinked once, twice, a third for good measure. He couldn’t see a thing now—but above the water he heard the distinct sizzling and crackling, the water becoming warmer and warmer yet still frigid as ice. He felt his chest caving in.

_Boom!_

His lungs were on fire.

_I can’t, I can’t, I can’t!_

There was that swoop in his stomach again. His hands gripped hard onto the sink, his body begging him to come up for oxygen on trembling, unstable legs. He couldn’t stop, not now. He had to face it. Once and for all.

_“Bambam, jump now!”_

_“I’ll catch you!”_

_“Bam—”_

It was then that Taehyung busted into the bathroom, yanking the younger by the collar from the water. The man gasped and hyperventilated, unaware of himself being forced through the bathroom doors, clambering onto the floor in a wet, pathetic heap.

“Bambam, what the fuck?! I-I was calling you a-and you...”

The younger had a coughing fit, quickly surveying his surroundings, relief spreading throughout his being when he saw he was back home. Taehyung only looked confused and horrified, mostly scared as he looked over what most certainly looked like his best friend trying to drown himself in the sink.

Bambam finally gained his bearings, wiping his panicked tears and gripping at his clothes. He gulped, looking up at the redhead.

“What the hell was that for?”

Taehyung was at a loss for words. His friend didn’t look phased in the slightest at what he just caught him doing. Like he wasn’t even aware it was wrong.

 _“How long…”_ Taehyung swallowed, staring at the boy’s trembling body on the ground. “H-How long have you been...” The question hung in the air between them, drowning them, suffocating them.

Killing them.

“Everyday since.” The younger stood to his feet, running his hands through his wet hair. He avoided Taehyung’s gaze, knowing he understood exactly what he was talking about. “It’s how I… it’s how I fix…” Bambam let out a frustrated breath, an embarrassed flush over his entire body. “I have to get back to n-normal somehow..”

Taehyung ran a hand over his face, groaning before he forced himself not to say anything. Not to think too hard. He knew how he felt, but he also knew this was the wrong way to handle what was most likely PTSD—but what the fuck did he know? He went and got himself addicted to coke for crying out loud. It was best if he kept his mouth shut about matters of the mind and body, for both of their sakes.

So, he said nothing.

“What did you want… y-you said you were c-calling me?” Bambam had a towel over his hair, following Taehyung to the living room. He was still shivering. Taehyung heard his teeth chattering from behind him.

“Jackson called.”

Bambam’s face paled. Taehyung almost laughed at how quick he responded to that name.

“He—what?” The younger bit his thumbnail, making Taehyung wrinkle his face in confusion. It seems Jackson hadn’t been keeping in contact like he thought. Or Bambam was purposely avoiding him.

“Well… what the hell did he want?”

“Oh, yeah...” Taehyung didn’t forget what Jackson had urgently asked of him. He was buying them time for the scariness of the inevitable.

“He told us to flip on the television. Turn to the news.”

The redhead watched Bambam scramble for the remote, shaky hands pressing the red button and crossing his arms tightly over himself. They both held their breath as the news intro blared across the living room, neither of them attempting to grab a seat.

It was funny how things changed.

In the past, they’d jokingly sing along to the news intro, letting it run after their cartoons aired without a care in the world. Cereal bowls in hand, chatting loud and obnoxious about their future, how they’d spend their time together, even what they’d be wearing—giving not one fuck about the tragedies of their present world.

Taehyung wondered when their wildest dreams turned into a nightmare they couldn’t escape.

**“Good Evening, Los Angeles. This is Byron Cane for Live 5 news at six. We have breaking news to share that you all have been waiting for.”**

“Hurry up, Byron.” Taehyung groaned, earning a agreeable hum from the younger shifting on his feet across from him. Something about this felt wrong, nerve wracking, like this wasn’t any old breaking news. Hell, if Jackson called him for the first time just to tell him to watch it had to be.

**“After many years of trial and error, failed raids and busts by multiple law enforcement agencies across a twenty year timeline... It appears that today, as of 6:45PM PST, 11AM KST...”**

Bambam fell to his knees. Please don’t be what I think it is, please don’t—

**“Infamous narcotics trafficker and crime ring leader, the ‘California King’ Raymond Tuan has been pronounced dead.”**

Taehyung grabbed the remote, turning it to every channel—they all were saying the same thing, with the same red bar across the bottom of the screen.

ABC, NBC, FOX, CNN—even fucking _PBS._

“Holy—holy _shit,”_ Bambam felt his chest start to cave in again, when Taehyung called his name.

“Jackson,” Taehyung pushed out, looking on the edge of a panic attack himself. “He also said somethin’ else.”

The raven haired man kept his eyes glued to the TV. “What? What _else?”_

“Mark wants you both at Dynasty… Sunday night.”

That’s only a day from now. Bambam slowly looked over at Taehyung, who looked back at him. The TV droned on in the background, all about Raymond Tuan’s death.

Bambam looked around the messy area, chest rising up and down at a faster pace than it should. Taehyung was already heading towards the door. “Tae, where the hell are you going? At least tell me you’re coming with me tomorrow.”

The redhead stopped when he reached the door, turning back to his best friend. He looked desperate, even if his tone was harsh. He was still trembling.

“I told you I would never step foot in that goddamn place ever again, Bam.”

“Tae!” Bambam quickly stood at the sound of his resolute tone, “What about the rest of them? What about J-Jimin? Jisoo? Jackson... “

_Me._

Taehyung didn’t think about that. He pursed his lips, turning away from the raven haired man. Jimin was probably so worried about him. He hasn't spoken to anyone since they got back.

“Then I would hope they understand.”

“How can they if you don’t even—” _tell them why!_ The door to the apartment slammed shut before he could finish. Bambam stared at the empty space, squeezing his fists and feeling the licks of anxiety start crawling it’s way up his spine. He stomped up to the door, banging on it from the other side.

“Keep runnin’ away, Kim Taehyung!” His fists hurt, he felt his lip splitting again. “That’s all you’ll ever be fuckin’ good for!”

Bambam kicked the door one last time, turning back to see the familiar face of his boss’ father over his television. He walked over to the tv and shutting it completely off.

There was no doubt about it; Mark Tuan had a plan up his sleeve.

He felt under his collar, heartbeat immediately calming at the feeling of the golden sun necklace between his fingers.

Good thing Bambam has one as well.

 

 _ **25 OCTOBER 1986**_ _ **8:12AM** _  
_**WASHINGTON PARK** _  
_**SAN DIEGO CA** _

  
_“You should-” Namjoon started, pausing to light his cigarette, “Try to be more honest with her. Save you both a lot of heartache and future daddy issues down the road and shit.”_

  
_Jackson let out a dry laugh at that statement._

_“Why not?”_

_“What four year old girl needs to hear that she possibly might not see her father again if he just happens to fuck up one of these days, huh?” Jackson leaned backwards on the bench, “She was the number one thing that kept me alive and fightin’ out there, Joon.”_

_Namjoon turned to him, face growing soft in the way Jackson hated._

_“Jackson… we're in this together. This is all of our asses on the line including Dahlia’s - you know that.”_

_“I didn't tell you to bring her here. That was all you.”_

_“And I ain't heard a thanks yet,” Namjoon stomped out his cigarette, “Your wire cut off, I lost signal on you, ain't heard a single thing since ya’ll left to sea. Fill me in.”_

_Jackson exhaled smoke, eyes locked in on Dahlia swinging high on the swings._

_“It was… well, I don't know how many enemies Tuan’s got, but they got onto the ship that night and…” the blonde rubbed his temples, the sound of screaming, the smell of smoke, the cold water against his body when he dove in. “They got the captain. Slit his throat.”_

_“What!? How the hell did you get to-”_

_The blonde stopped him short. “The whole ship went down, Joon… the five of us managed to make it out.”_

_“Damn it... what about the passengers?”_

_Jackson pitifully shrugged, the sight making Namjoon frown even deeper._

_“I just hope we weren't the only survivors… God, that would suck. Some damn mobsters.”_

_“You’re not one of them, so it ain't all bad. What matters is that you got out alive. But that doesn't explain the rest of the time you were gone.”_

_So, Jackson recalled it all. The hike up the hill to the highway, the hitchhiking, the cartel - Joon couldn't keep himself from shouting about that, demanding info the more he divulged. He recalled the party, getting kidnapped (minus the private conservation with Taehyung), basically everything he could._

_By the end of it, Namjoon sat there speechless, face stone cold - it put a real damper on the sunny mood of the day. The kids laughing and playing in the distance. He looked right at Jackson, lips pursed, brows furrowed in confusion._

_“What else?”_

_“What do you mean… we ditched the jeep, hopped on a chopper Hoseok somehow knew how to damn fly - don't ask me - then we landed in the bay.”_

_“Yeah, but what else? You're holding back on shit, it don't feel complete on your end, all your actions.”_

_Jackson scoffed, “Holding what back? Wasn't that shitstorm enough for ya?”_

_Namjoon’s face hardened. “If it was up to me you wouldn't be there in the fuckin’ first place, and this is exactly why. Now the least you can do is tell me everything in full-”_

_“There's nothing else.”_

 

**_OCTOBER 25 1986 11:30AM_ **

**_DYNASTY HOTEL, SAN DIEGO CA_ **

 

_“Yo, Little Yi!”_

The door to his office suite swung open, leaving the option of it being only Jinyoung or Yoongi to be entering that disrespectfully.

By the sound of that nickname, today it was the latter.

“Yeah, Suga?” He took of his reading glasses, rubbing his eyes before looking at his best friend come in and plop down on his office chair.

“I told you to stop callin’ me that,” the blonde rolled his eyes, sipping his usual coffee blacker than his soul and sitting a hot brown bag on his desk.

He knew what it was before opening it.

“You got me breakfast...” Mark eyed the Monroe’s bag before staring daggers into the pale man across from him. The smell wafting in the air made his mouth water, but the gesture made him too cautious to go for it. Something was wrong.

“You know I wouldn't bother to get your cranky ass _anything_ unless it was serious.” Yoongi mumbled, sipping his bitter coffee again before pushing the bag towards the younger.

Mark looked frail, even skinnier than before. He’d better start eating if he wanted to beat _anyone,_ especially his dick of a father. Black Lotus needed him now more than ever.

Mark seemed to get the message before opening the bag and stuffing a hash brown into his mouth.

“Just spit it out. There's no bugs here, Jinyoung checked.”

Yoongi leaned forward in the chair, the leather barely squeaked under his weight.

“It’s the pigs.” He whispered, “My source at the station says they're lookin’ into you. What’d you do? How do they know you?”

“Yoongi, please…” Mark stretched his arms above his head, pulling out a cigar from his desk and lighting it. It looked new. “Make it disappear. I’m busy now.”

“I’m workin’ on that, but-”

“But _what?_ I don't have the time for this now, you know that. I’m so close to—”

A knock interrupted the two men’s spat.

“Come on.” Mark called out, not moving his eyes from Yoongi’s until a familiar set of hips stopped in front of his best friend face, right at his desk as if he owned it.

“You’ve got a guest out there, baby.” Jinyoung started, crossing his arms and walking over behind the desk. “One with a badge.”

Yoongi and him exchanged a look before Mark rose to his feet. “Nobody spoke to him yet, right? Did you offer him a drink?”

“Of course not, he’s a _cop.”_ Jinyoung sighed, quickly organizing the papers on his desk - a habit he adopts when he’s nervous. “And he seems to be the kind who can't be bribed. Or day drinks.”

Mark noticed the rising inflections in his voice and grabbed his wrist, intertwining their hands together. “There's no one that can't be bribed, my love. Everybody has something they want to protect. Once you find that, you got em’ right where you want em’. Easy peasy.”

Jinyoung bit his lip, staring down at their hands. There were times when his lover would become nervous and lose his confidence. He sensed Mark wasn't at the top of _his_ game so like a domino, it also affected his other half that fed off of his energy.

“Don’t ya’ll start that worrying shit, alright? Just do your part.” He assured them both, Jinyoung and Yoongi. “I got it all under control. You’ll see.”

Mark dusted off his pants, grabbing his coat from Jinyoung’s waiting arms and heading towards the door.

“I’ll be back. Thanks for the food.”

As soon as the door clicked shut, the two looked at each other before Jinyoung sat down in the chair Mark was just in moments ago. Yoongi grabbed the bag, removing the warm sandwich in the wrapper and proceeding to stuff his face with it. Jinyoung just shook his head at the sight.

“Seriously?… he said he’d be right back.”

“And when has that ever been true? No need for good food to go to waste.” He spoke over a mouth full of eggs, chuckling at Jinyoung who turned away abruptly at the sight, quickly handing him tissues.

He never understood how it happened, Mark and Jinyoung. But as all things in the Tuan family were run, explanations were few and far between. It just was what it was and you moved on. Yoongi liked that principal a lot for himself, actually.

“You know, Jimin… he told me you two were the _best_ of friends now. Got any opinions on that sentiment?”

Jinyoung rolled his eyes so hard at the mention of the pink haired boy, Yoongi thought they’d really get stuck like old people always say.

“I don't even know why you still talk to him.”

They sat in silence, Jinyoung surveying the blonde as he stirred uncomfortably at the mention of the dancer. Park Jimin wasn't a guy you could easily ignore, he can attest fully to that fact. What Yoongi can't fucking stand is people bringing him up every two seconds when he’s trying.

“Just doing my part and playin’ nice. Makes everything much easier, don't you think?”

Jinyoung had to let out a laugh at that one.

Out of all of Mark’s friends, the two he actually liked were Yoongi and Jaebum (If Hoseok didn't fall for Jimin’s bullshit, he would’ve liked him too). Yoongi was a bit of a surprise considering they didn't have the best relationship starting out, but his loyalty to Mark was something he had to respect.

Been that way since they were all in college; sticking to Mark’s side, inspired by his charisma like everyone else. Intelligent but disinterested in studies, aloof but polite. He was something else; throwing huge parties he’d leave early from—if he even decided to show up.

Jinyoung was just a little _more_ taken by the elder than their peers. They weren't even apart of the same _world_ it seemed; besides the business major, they were on paths that were never meant to cross.

Even if their parents had already been doing business long before they knew the other existed.

“What do you think Mark is planning so much for?”

“I don’t know,” Jinyoung answered honestly. “You worried?”

Yoongi gave him a deadpan look that said _‘Of course, you idiot’_ and Jinyoung smirked.

They were here when Dynasty was just a dream in Mark’s head; an idea he never let go of despite the hell his father put him through for being his son. He was their escape that had nothing to do with the pressure of the generation before them.

Mark Tuan arrived in their lives bearing a new kind of weight for them to carry:

_Kilos, ounces, and dime bags._

All of that quickly came up to more cash, more power they could’ve ever dreamed. It sure as hell beat living a mundane life, chasing the ever so coveted _American Dream_ of their first generation parents.

Jinyoung wasn’t like them.

Instead, he alone had the chance to sit in his _own_ position of power under the name of his own family. But what the fuck could top ruling beside the man you love? Endless supplies of cash, sex, power, _weed_ …he practically lived a fairytale. Everyone wasn’t as lucky as him to have found love in a world like theirs.

So that’s why Jinyoung goes a little soft on Yoongi.

For his ridiculous little crush _,_ watching them fall for someone else… Jinyoung wouldn't have been able to stomach it if Mark fell for someone else, let alone _Jimin_ of all people.

“I find it exciting. Shit is about to get so real, it’ll be down to the five of us again. _Maybe_ Jimin if I feel like it..”

“What’s wrong with the rest of the crew?” The blonde rose his brow at the other, snatching a hash brown from the bag and rising from his seat. Jinyoung was sitting in Mark’s, twisting about with a childish smirk on his face before pausing, “They’re nothing but short, pretty infatuations of Mark’s. As soon as his plan gets into gear, they’ll drop like flies in the heat.”

“Is that a threat or a promise?”

“Whatever you want it to be, my _Sweet Suga.”_

His face tensed back up again, a groan escaping his lips as he turned towards the door. Jinyoung couldn’t help the chuckle that tumbled from his lips.

“Yeah, I think i’ve had enough of Park Jinyoung for the day.”

“Wait for me, boss!” Jinyoung joked, receiving another grumble from the small manager as they exited the office.

“Now, _who_ the fuck is this chump in our lobby…”

Jinyoung was about to roll his eyes at the lack of attention he was receiving over a regular cop, but something was clearly going down right in front of him. Yoongi came to a complete halt, body going frigid.

“What the fu- _hyung?”_

The man of the hour jerkily turned at the voice, eyes going as wide as his as they stayed rooted in their spots. Jinyoung looked between them, keeping himself silent.

“Yoongi? That you, Min Yoongi?”

“Wait, is this the cop?“ he looked at Jinyoung, who nodded his head. A hand came up to nervously rub his stubble, “You’re—“ there was a pregnant pause.

“This has gotta be a fucking joke.”

 _Huh,_ Jinyoung thought. A sweating, flustered, Yoongi - who was just as calm and collected as he could be; now threatening to _shit his pants_ over some tall blonde with a backwoods accent?

It was definitely a sight for sore eyes.

“Old friends?” Jinyoung piped up, narrowing his eyes between the two men, who were now staring at each other for so long he _really_ needed to go find somewhere else to hang..

“You could say that.” Yoongi started, eyes hardening exponentially while Jinyoung’s lips curled up into a smirk. _There’s_ the Yoongi he knows. Mark is gonna fucking _eat_ this shit up.

“You two should probably figure that out before Mark comes waltzing back here,” Jinyoung brushed shoulders with Yoongi before saying low in a tone only he could hear, “He doesn’t like surprises.”

Yoongi snorted, straightening his jacket, eyes never leaving the stranger.

“Yeah, neither do I.”

As soon as Jinyoung was gone, leaving a waft of Chanel in his wake, the two men continued a lengthy staring contest with the goal of making the other sweat.

“Kim Namjoon, what the hell are you doing here?”

The blonde just quirked a brow at that, seeming to come back from his shock. “What happened to my ‘ _Hyung’?”_

“I’m waitin’ on that answer now.” Yoongi shot back.

Namjoon gave the other a once over, stopping at the gaudy golden watch on his right wrist and the many, many rings on his fingers.

“Wow… this is where you disappeared off to huh. What happened to the songwriting thing? Not your style no more?” Namjoon lowered his voice, “Laundering cash turns you on more now?”

Fuck this. The fact Namjoon was questioning him about what he’s done with his life since they last spoke rubbed him the _entire_ wrong way. Yoongi wasn’t gonna stand for that shit. Not from him.

And he sure didn’t need a reminder of who he _used_ to be from someone who ain’t in the picture anymore. That’s as useless as it gets. In Yoongi’s eyes, the past was nothing but a waste of time.

Kim Namjoon was a waste of his time.

“Dunno… maybe the same shit that made you become a crooked cop working for a shit boss and piss poor salary.” Yoongi snapped, “This would’ve been a _way_ nicer place to clock in, don't you think?

Namjoon didn’t seem to favor the way Yoongi was speaking to him either, lying through his teeth and thinking that he would ever join something like this, that he would ever _want_ to.

Perhaps his old friend didn't know a damn thing about him anymore.

“I don’t know what kinda sick power trip your boss got you on, but let’s get somethin’ straight here, Min Yoongi.” He stepped closer to him, “ _You’re_ the one who disappeared _._ I’m not the one you need to be mad at, yapping away like some hurt child. Thought you would’ve grown up a bit, at least.”

Yoongi felt his resolve crumble. It fell somewhere by the wayside with his integrity after the word ‘child’ slipped past his lips.

“Maybe you should watch your fuckin’ tone, officer. Someone might just get the wrong idea about you.”

“Oh, _wow.”_ Namjoon shook his head. “Threatening me? I’d ask what the hell happened to you but that answered the question by itself.”

“Then why not do us _both_ a favor: Stop actin’ like you give a shit about me when we both know you _don't!”_

Everyone in the lobby to stopped momentarily to look at him, but not for too long as Yoongi was known for the occasional outburst. But they were never this raw, never personal.

God, that stupid no smoking in the lobby rule was the worst thing that ever happened to this place.

“Woah, woah, _woah,_ you two!”

The two men quickly turned to see Mark making his to them, files in his hand, with another man in tow; one with _pink hair_ and a confused expression all over his face. Great. _Just_ what he needed right now.

“Do we need to seperate you guys? You’re frightening my _precious_ guests!”

The young boss joked and turned to the dissipating audience, causing guests to laugh at the charismatic owners attempt to pacify the situation and still keep everyone calm.

He then turned back to the two, nodding them both over to a table nearby.

“Now check this out, Kim,” He opened a folder, looking right at the taller blonde. “This is my liquor license, business permit, my property permit—hell a copy of my driver’s license is in here somewhere, right Jimin?”

“Should be, sir.”

Yoongi crossed his arms at the two, a scowl over his face. “The hell you showin em’ this for? It ain’t none of his business.”

“Actually, it is.” Namjoon replied without looking at him, scanning the paperwork before him looking professional and dignified as ever. It made Yoongi uncomfortable. “And great, Mr. Tuan. I had no doubt you weren’t running some kind of a tighter ship than most.”

“Just call me Mark, anything else is too stuffy.” Mark gave him a winning smile, no doubt catching every hint of subtle shade through his previous remark. It didn’t matter, because right now he was playing the game. If he caught anything suspicious that would draw more attention to Dynasty and Black Lotus - and that’s the last thing he needed.

Not now, at least.

“Okay, Mark, this is a nicely run establishment you got on your hands, especially being so young.”

“Appreciate it, Officer Kim. I do have Min here,” He squeezed Yoongi’s shoulders, “to thank for most of this. Never thought letting your best friend handle the paperwork was a sound business move until I did it, huh?”

That was when Jimin piped up from Mark side, bright hair with a brighter smile. “He’s right. Yoongi’s just a _godsend_ , he runs a truly tight ship around here when Mark is busy.”

Yoongi side eyed the shorter man, knowing the praise wouldn’t come alone. Jimin settled on a small smile when he conversed with Namjoon, definitely nothing overly friendly, and some challenge behind the gaze Yoongi definitely picked up. “Can’t imagine where the animosity could be from, but that isn’t really my business.”

“Park.” Mark warned him to settle, but his eyes flickered like Christmas ornaments between the two, catching both of their glares his direction and brushing them right off.

“Stay for a drink, Mr. Kim? Our champagne is the _perfect_ beverage to hash shit out over—I would know.”

Namjoon narrowed his eyes, “And who exactly are you, now?”

Yoongi let out a sharp breath, grabbing the bridge of his nose. _Here we go._

“Jimin. Park Jimin. Pleased to meet you.” His small hand reached out to shake his, a very firm handshake before he turned his attention back to Mark. His boss was watching the exchange in a quiet, light manner as not to jump in blind. After all, this was still a cop. But not one that couldn’t be handled, especially since Yoongi knows the guy.

He was nothing to worry about.

And with that, Mark excused himself, letting Jimin lead them down to the lounge.

Namjoon was shitting bricks at the sheer _sight_ of it all. And that was before they even got to the bar itself. “It’s amazing here isn’t it?” Jimin mused, a buzz of anticipation thrumming through Namjoon’s veins he refused to acknowledge.

No wonder Jackson almost went _missing_ being here for so long. It was like a wonderland of overindulgence and wealth, everything was covered in gold and shined to perfection.

There was something of a childish air about it, how gaudy it was; like Yoongi’s watch. But there was no mistake that this was something earned and worked for. A long-time goal fulfilled from the mind of a dreamer.

“Yeah, it’s sure somethin’.” He muttered, stepping off the elevator to the double doors leading to what must have been their bar. Jimin pushed open the door with both hands, letting Yoongi go first, Namjoon second and himself last.

 _“Jiminie!”_ They heard a female’s voice, quite a bit of them, pipe up at the sight of the small man. His smile was as dazzling as it could be, his walk as easy as it was confident.

Something felt oddly familiar about him.

“Jimin, you dancin’ tonight? Rosé is finally healed and you know she’s ready.” A gorgeous girl with wavy, purple hair bounced up to them, sending polite smiles to each before settling back on Jimin.

“Good! Cause I planned to let you girls entertain our guests tonight, it’s been awhile since you’ve performed as a group, huh?” He nodded to the security while speaking, pointing towards Namjoon. “Check em’, you know the drill.”

“I would’ve kicked him out myself if he had shit on him, Jimin.” Yoongi grumbled.

“Just a standard check, don't whine.” Jimin quipped, sending a small smile to Yoongi before turning back to the security patting Namjoon down like he was in an airport security line. “That’s enough, boys.”

Namjoon huffed, straightening out his jacket and looking to Yoongi while Jimin was engrossed in conversation with Jisoo as if nothing had happened.

“I just wanted to make sure you were really okay with being back out on the stage today, you know.”

The girl looked down, smile dropping for a second before it was back. “Everything’s _okay,_ Jimin. I’m ready - all the girls are. You saw our rehearsal right, Yoongi?”

“Yeah, yeah. Phenomenal.” he mumbled, making Jisoo chuckle and shake her head. Besides Minhyuk, he was in charge of supervising their rehearsals when Jimin was busy. God only knows why, he couldn’t dance for shit. Jimin gave her a warm smile, then looked down at his watch.

“Shit, gotta run. Jisoo, make these men a couple drinks on me, alright?”

“Got it.” She winked, turning to the two men and leading them to the bar. “I got one grumpy customer at one of the stools right now, don’t mind him.”

“Yeah, tell your _boyfriend_ he’s in my seat, Ji!” Yoongi called out, causing the girl to flush and Jaebum to turn around with a scowl and a full glass of dark something in his glass it was too early to have.

“Fuck you, _squirt.”_ Jaebum shot up, stalking up to the younger, play fighting a bit before his eyes landed on Namjoon.

“Oh.. this the cop?”

Yoongi slapped his sides. “How the hell do _you_ know?”

“Jinyoung, duh.”

Yoongi rolled his eyes, gently shoving the man out of his way to his stool. “Run along lovebirds. I can pour my own drink. And it’ll stay on _my_ tab—not Park’s, thank you.”

Jisoo narrowed her eyes, smacking her gum loudly in the way she knew annoyed Yoongi when he was in one of his moods. “Fine by us. Let’s go _Bummie!”_ she placed a bottle of champagne on the counter in front of the shelf and tugged Jaebum along by his jacket, out of sight to the pair.

Yoongi poured a glass, sliding it to Namjoon before he poured his own. They sat in silence.

“I recognize em’.” Namjoon started, “The pink haired one..”

“Oh yeah?” Yoongi just kept sipping his drink as he sipped his drink, neither confirming or denying a thing.

“You used to talk about em’ all the time before… well,” Namjoon sighed, seeming to be stuck on something, “Is he…”

“Is he _what,_ Namjoon...”

Namjoon turned to him, lips pursed. “Is he the reason for all of this shit, Yoongi? Did you join a—“ he lowered his voice, “a fuckin’ _mob_ for some boy and risk your _life?”_

 _Is he fucking serious?_ Yoongi wanted to up and leave then, but he stayed in his seat, rubbing his temples and tolerating it for a second.

Fuck that, he had to say his piece now or he never would.

“I get we ain't seen each other in years, Namjoon. I get that you think you’re so _smart_ and self righteous since you work for the law, trust me I do. But you don’t know a _thing_ about what I been through, what it took to get here.”

“Oh, I don’t?”

“You _don’t.”_ Yoongi snapped back. “I didn’t start a goddamn _business_ with my best friend—yes, he’s got that title now, because of _Jimin_ . This was my dream, our vision. All _i’m_ doin’ here is running the best damn hotel in San Diego, and all you’re doing is your job.”

The manager was gripping around the champagne flute so hard, if the glass was a bit cheaper it would’ve already shattered. “And don’t fuckin’ bring up that stupid producer, ‘Agust D’ fairytale bullshit again. It’s dead, alright?”

_Just like me and you._

Namjoon didn’t notice how much Yoongi was shaking because he was caught inside his own head, glass untouched, hands gripping his hair. It seems his words had a more profound effect than he thought they would.

“I shouldn’t have been so caught in my books, I-I shouldn’t have-“ he mumbled to himself, ignoring, not hearing Yoongi telling him to stop already.

“Namjoon, stop it.”

“-If I paid more attention you would’ve been _safe.”_

_“Hyung.”_

He banged his fist on the table, making the officer snap back into his newly adept attention span. There was a lot of new things going on with Namjoon. And honestly, this path, helping people and exuding his intelligence for what he thought was the ‘greater good’ wasn’t _too_ shocking to find out.

“Why did you _leave,_ Yoongi? I… just tell me. Was it my fault? Was I not a good hyung to you?”

Yoongi turned away from the broken, sad look on Namjoon’s face. The expression on it took him back to a Min Yoongi he never wanted to meet again. But he knew he had to explain himself.

“Listen once ‘cus I ain’t gonna explain this again.” Yoongi said, crossing his arms in front of him, watching the water droplets run down his glass.

“It was after my fifth demo got rejected, you know the one; So Close to something...”

“So Far Away.”

“Yeah, that shit.” Yoongi flushed at the fact Namjoon remembered it so easily, shaking his head and continuing on. “I switched colleges to the prestigious stuffy one I got accepted to right after... it fuckin’ _killed_ me, Joon. And I thought I was just succumbing to my parents shitty idea of me failing; maybe I was. When I got there, I went into a business major. Fuck knows why but… that’s when everything changed.”

“Is that where you met Mark Tuan?” Namjoon tried his hardest to keep too much judgement out of his voice, but Yoongi still grimaced in the other seat.

“Also Jinyoung… and Jimin, finally. But that wasn’t until after me and Mark got close. He kinda just… stuck to me like a younger bro. I think it was my business knowledge, how I wasn’t the picture perfect student with a trust fund you usually saw walkin’ round, you know?” Yoongi hadn’t told this story before. He hoped everything was still accurate as pictured in his mind. Of course, major chunks were omitted.

“And you know I saw Jimin before that, in the club. Turned out that school was his day hustle. Then through me, Mark found out about him, yadda yadda… here I am.”

Namjoon took a deep breath, questions were definitely being answered, all but the most important one he had.

“It was real… sudden, Yoongi. I mean - i’m used to some change, being an army brat and all but shit… everything in your room was still intact like you left it, but _you_ never came back.”

“I know what you wanna hear. That I was _so_ jealous of you, moving on up in your life, getting exactly what you reached for, never losing your integrity or your parents approval,” Yoongi grabbed a rag from the counter, wiping the champagne that spilled on the surface earlier so Jisoo wouldn’t kill him.

“But that wasn’t it. Not at all.”

They were silent after that, Namjoon waiting for a further explanation, yet not wanting to push. Yoongi wanted so badly to change the subject and get away from it.

“Were you in trouble? Could I have helped you?”

Yoongi chuckled, a dark expression falling over his face. “There was nothing you did or could’ve done, Namjoon. Absolutely nothing. Just somethin’ I had to take care of.”

Namjoon sensed that was all he would get out of the man this day, and for Yoongi it was more than most people got. He never explained himself to anyone, and this most likely wasn’t the full story. But he knew that Yoongi’s time for explanation was done when the shorter man turned to him, expression curious as ever.

“And why are _you_ here, Namjoon? Did you hear about me? Following some stupid prick’s orders and investigating Mark?”

Namjoon sighed. The real reason he’s here is more to do with the second, but was based out of another increasing worry of his.

Jackson.

“My boss wanted me to check the place out. I checked it out. Only thing I found is an old friend and his old flame.”

Jackson and Namjoon were in this together. Even more _now_ than ever before since a piece of his _own_ past is in the mix.

He needed to find out what Jackson was so attracted to in this place, why he refused to keep himself safe and leave after that horrible vacation. Anyone with a brain knows it was only gonna get worse from then on. There was reason he was so adamant, willing to risk so much.

Namjoon couldn’t let Yoongi get caught in a crossfire protecting Mark. Nor Jackson and whoever he was protecting.

Yoongi poured himself another glass, not sparing a look at the elder. “You should go, Namjoon. It was nice to see you again but—”

“It was nice but you’re kicking me out? Seriously, Yoongi?”

Yoongi turned to him sharply, leaning in his space and lowering his voice even more than it already was. “Don’t fuckin’ act like you don’t know how all these nosy detectives running around here get back to the station. You’ve fuckin’ _seen it,_ Hyung. How many times do people have to _die_ until ya’ll get it?”

Namjoon was about to open his mouth, but Yoongi beat him to it.

“This is me telling you as an old friend: Never step foot in here again. Ditch the badge and we can meet elsewhere if you really want. No more of this shit.”

_“Yoongi—”_

“Drop whatever stupid assignment you got, whatever intuition you’re tryin’ to follow cause I know you are, hyung. Just go.”

There was nothing he could say after that. Not just because Yoongi had turned away, but because he summoned the security lurking in the shadows to escort him out personally. He looked back at Yoongi, who was sitting at the bar sipping from his glass, leaving Namjoon to watch his old best friend as he left Dynasty for the last time.

 

 

**_THE NEW GENERATION OF THE DRUG WAR: IS THE WORST REALLY OVER?_ | LOS ANGELES TIMES | OCTOBER 28, 1986**

 

_‘On the sunny afternoon of October 27th, there was no doubt the death of Raymond Tuan sent a ripple effect of shock and relief through the citizens and law enforcement of California. Who wouldn’t be relieved? Everyone remembers the untimely deaths of those who crossed him, serving time in paradise just to be released and repeat the same wrongs; and no one could forget when he fled from LA after a nearly successful capture back in 1982—something no one ever thought he’d do._

_But while the sun seems to shine a bit brighter in California now, a dark looming cloud of uncertainty threatens to cover it up._

_Would this truly be the end of Raymond Tuan? Surely, he had someone to pass the baton to should anything happen? And if so, how the hell could we find out who it was?_

_After a call to the LA Times at about 12:00AM this morning, there was no need to wonder anymore.’_

**_1986 OCTOBER 28 10:12 PM_ **

**_DYNASTY HOTEL SAN DIEGO CA_ **

 

“You… _willingly_ gave an interview to the LA Times?”

Bambam looked around at everyone at their faux roundtable discussion at the club, everyone around the heir on the p’s & q’s, careful not to push any buttons to anger Mark after such turbulent news.

Only Mark seemed to the happiest anyone had ever seen him.

“Of course he did. It’s about time the world learns who he is, don’t you think?” Jinyoung, the ever so significant other, snapped back at Hoseok’s question.

Jackson sat right beside Bambam. The presence of the blonde man now irking him and calming him at the same damn time— _fuck, why the hell did Mark invite him?_ He tore his eyes away from the blonde, looking down at the crowd below from the VIP seats they were currently sitting in. They could see absolutely everything from here, but no one could see them.

Jimin took the paper from Hoseok’s hands, an evil smirk on his face as he read out the next lines to everyone.

 

_“He was handsome, cruelly so. That was the first thing we found out about the brave young man who introduced himself to the world— but first our readers—to his bloody lineage. The way he walked into a room commanded respect, but he had a boyish air to him that screamed ‘innocent college kid’. If you didn’t know his last name, you’d probably give him and your daughter your blessing._

_This was the son of Raymond Tuan._

_Los Angeles: Meet Mark Tuan.”_

 

“Oh man, the media is about to be up your ass.” Jaebum piped in with a laugh, while the others stared down at the paper with faces of confusion and and amusement. Personally to Bambam, this entire approach seemed to be smart considering who mark’s father was

And Bambam knew of Raymond Tuan _long_ before he met his son.  
  
In fact, the last paper he wrote during his junior year of high school was about the drug lord himself. They had to choose influential people in history, which had no limit on who they could choose. Good or bad, it was technically acceptable if everyone knew their name. He knew every big raid the cops failed to catch him with, how much money he was worth, where he was born, age, birthday—of course there was no information available about Mark—the knowledge of him having any offspring wasn’t public knowledge.

Well, until now.

“Oh definitely. Especially since he’s fucking hot? Jinyoung, get ready for the groupies and fanmail asking for his dirty underwear—“

“Fuck off, Bambam—don’t you have rookie to be looking after?”

 _Rookie?_ Bambam lifted a brow, barely catching the way the blonde beside him went frigid all of a sudden.

Oh.

_Oh._

Jackson opened his mouth to speak but Bambam just snatched a bottle of beer chilling in cooler beside them and made his way out of vip without another word.

Jackson sighed, “Bambam, wait…”

“Hey...“ Jinyoung weakly tried to get him back, turning to the group with a fake pout. “Guess he isn’t too happy about the news. Wonder why.”

Hoseok chuckled, a hand unconsciously meeting Jimin’s thigh. “We know he ain’t, he grabbed a _beer_ for christ’s sake.”

Jimin pouted, brows scrunched in what could only be described as adorable confusion. “I thought he didn’t drink beer…”

“He doesn’t.” Jaebum said, narrowing his eyes at the retreating back of their youngest.

Mark just sat there, watching the whole exchange with a grin, like he expected the terse reaction. Jackson looked to see Bambam descending into the crowd, immediately commanding attention without even being aware of it.

What Jackson didn’t know, was that Bambam wasn’t an official member of the Black Lotus mob, he was just a dealer—quite a skilled one—which still wasn’t anywhere near the rest of their ranks. The only reason Bambam was around them so much was because Mark was the one who brought him to this life in the first place.

Don’t get Mark wrong, he’s definitely been working on getting Bambam to commit, but he’s a bit too comfortable with his current situation to join, and he can’t _force_ him or else his performance will weaken.

That’s where Jackson Wen fits in quite perfectly.

Mark finally spoke up, lifting his glass. His eyes were stuck on the fumbling blonde, obviously wanting to up and run after Bambam.

“To Jackson and his upcoming initiation training.”

That made Jackson snap back to attention.

“Initiation?”

Everyone ignored the blonde, clanking their glasses together with secret smiles.

_“Cheers!”_

And If anyone noticed how tense Bambam was upon arrival, or noticed the bruising under his makeup—they didn’t say a word.

-

_“Fuck!”_

 

Bambam ran frustrated hands through his hair, particularly glad he went with less hairspray and gel than usual. He sauntered his way out of the Gold Lounge completely, pressing the button to the elevator so many times he could’ve broken it.  

As he waited, his mind ran a mile a minute, thinking about the dumb blonde in the club.

Why would Jackson do something so stupid! He didn't need to be apart of some gang, he was too...  _good_ for that. It just didn't make sense! This had to have something to do with Mark, he had to have convinced him, bribed him, _threatened_ him.

_But what if Jackson wanted this all along?_

_What if I was wrong about him?_

One part of Bambam wanted to get to know everything about the man, kiss his lips, hold his hand, do stupid shit with him that he never did before.

But the other part, the dealer, wanted no parts of him. But that didn't mean everyone thought the same... especially Mark.   
  
Bambam’s heard him and Jinyoung talking about Raymond once,multiple times actually. Mark’s voice would rise in anger before the other hushed him, the sound of things crashing. There was no doubt in his mind Mark was ecstatic over the news of his father's death. He still didn't know how he died or the details, but he knew one thing: _everything_ would change after this.

Mark would amass more power—plus his father’s by birth right. With more power, came more enemies, more danger. More incidents like Mexico. _Uncertainty._  
  
What would this mean for Bambam? Would Mark become paranoid and put new restrictions on his deals? Take his free will?

Most importantly, why exactly did he let Jackson, someone as _good_ as Jackson, join Black Lotus?

_Ding!_

Bambam entered the elevator quickly, pressing the bottom most floor—above the basement—feeling his palms sweat in anticipation as the numbers on the display became lower and lower.

When the doors finally opened, Bambam’s whole demeanor shifted as his heels clicked down the hallway. Forget the Gold Lounge, _this_ was Bambam favorite place in the entire hotel.

The Casino floor.

It was bright in there, neon lights and game machines, the smell of money and the looming vibrations of power and affluence made Bambam be on his best behavior when visiting—and he visited _very_ often.

Unlike the people you would find in the Gold Lounge, the gamblers here were the real movers and shakers. More than money was at stake in this place, and danger was only a chip or an Ace away.

Bambam absolutely _loved_ it.

As soon as he arrived, he spotted some of the girls working the floor, most notably Rosé who was always specifically requested on nights as wild as these. Bambam guessed they were into her ‘innocent, docile look’—it made him _sick_ how much they took advantage of the girls down here.

“I see you didn’t stay for the meeting.”

A familiar gruff voice said from beside him. He felt a stack of cards being slide into his hands, his face breaking out into a wide grin as he came face to face with none other than Min Yoongi. The manager of this entire place and Mark’s closest ally.

 _“You_ didn't attend at all.” Bambam quipped, turning his full attention to the small blonde.

“I never attend those circle jerk meetings.” Yoongi disinterestedly responded, eyes like hawks as he watched the rowdy men cheer and whoop, curse and spit over rigged games.

The clicking sound of the money machines sending chills down both of their spines.

Yoongi was probably the only person who loved the casino more than _he_ did.

“Up for some hold em’ to take the edge off?” The blonde offered, easily noting the unease in Bambam’s demeanor. Yoongi never pried when he didn’t want to; but Bambam almost always spilled to him eventually, finding comfort in his silence.

“You know it.”

Yoongi and his favorite game partner had just nodded, getting ready to clear their favorite game station when they both heard a huge commotion in the middle of the casino. People craned their heads all around to see it.

_“Get this cheatin’ little bitch out of here before I kill him!”_

_“What the fuck do you think this is huh?! Give me the god damn money!”_

_“Hold him down!”_

There was a crowd of men surrounding the bulk of it, blocking the cause of unrest from view. Bambam and Yoongi exchanged amused looks, crossing their arms and watching it unfold.

“Another con artist?”

Yoongi chuckled, shaking his head. “It’s some kid. Been here all night causing trouble. Playing any and everyone. They all lose then threaten to beat his teeth in.”

Bambam laughed, “He any good?”

“Don’t know, never seen him before tonight. Though I think these guys might not let em’ live for too long...” Yoongi squinted his eyes, Bambam did as well, not getting a good view of the kid at all. “I’ll get security to handle it. He seemed a bit young.”

Bambam smirked, giving a ‘hold on’ gesture to Yoongi before he approached the angry, suited mob. The lower level men immediately parted upon Bambam’s arrival, revealing the man of the hour, strung up by his leather jacket seemingly at the end of his road.

The first thing Bambam noticed: the man of the hour was most certainly a kid.

His hair was brown, the kind of from-birth color you could tell was untouched by any dyes or chemicals yet. It was laying wavy and damp over his forehead, most likely sweat from the heat and all of these men after him.

Under it were his eyes, wild and wide. He must’ve been scared out of his mind, shit, any kid would be in this situation. He was absolutely _surrounded_ by killers and traffickers, dealers, alcoholic business men—they could either end his life right here or ruin it forever.

The second, most interesting thing Bambam noticed: the satisfied, pompous look to him that flashed _through_ the fear. Like he knew _exactly_ what he was doing.

He took a look at the mess of the gaming table, noticing every chip stacked tower high and pushed to one side. Most likely his.

“Guys, let em’ go. He’s only a kid.”

Bambam intervened, watching men almost twice, three times their age turn to him _seething._ He would’ve laughed if he wasn’t trying to make a point.

“I’m no _kid.”_

A higher pitched voice sounded off, Bambam looking confused until he realized It came from the boy. The boy turned to him after the statement looking almost just as angry as his aggressors.

“And it ain’t my fault they just suck at the game!”

Well, the kid had balls at least.

“That’s it, _brat!“_

The man above him shoved him back, pushing him into the game chips. The crowd gasped,  Bambam grimaced when his back slammed against the green table. The boy groaned as the chips scattered all over the floor around him.

 _“Hey!_ You can be upset all you fuckin’ want but don’t fuck up my venue!”

Yoongi finally felt the need to come up, standing besides Bambam with security surrounding him.

“You.” Yoongi pointed at the boy’s aggressor, pulling out his wallet with an exhausted groan. “Around how much did he get off you and the rest of these guys?”

The man was still angry, glaring daggers into the boy when he spoke. “A hundred!”

Bambam wanted to go the hell home at this point.

“All this over one c-note!? Each?!”

“Let me specify then,” The man gritted his teeth, “One hundred _thousand.”_

Yoongi and Bambam’s mouths opened in shock, sharply turning towards the delinquent kid.

Maybe he _was_ a con artist.

“Around 20k each…” Bambam whispered in Yoongi’s ear, looking down at his fat leather wallet clutched with a death grip in his hand. “You sure you wanna cover that?”

“Hell no.” Yoongi closed his wallet, stuffing it in his back pocket. He sauntered over to the kid, picking him up by the collar and standing him to his feet. Bambam’s eyes widened at his long legs clad in light washed jeans—the boy _had_ to be six foot.

“Give them the money back. _Now.”_

The boy looked like Yoongi asked him to chop his own hand off before the blonde roughly grabbed him by the ear, making him bend down to his level.

“Pay these fucking assholes and maybe you’ll live to see twenty one. When you’re _legal_ to fucking be here.”

The threat of legal action must’ve got the kid moving because he immediately dug inside all of his pockets, dropping hundreds of thousands of dollars in front of the men quite defiantly.

After the boss, Bambam guessed, got a guard to collect and count the money, he spit in the kid’s direction and left the casino.

Yoongi turned to Bambam and him, looking the boy up and down with a terse expression.

“Who the hell _are_ you, kid?”

The brunette let out an annoyed breath, practically _asking_ for another pair of fists in his face from the manager this time.

“Yugyeom…” the kid muttered.

_Yugyeom._

“Well, _Yugyeom,”_ Yoongi stuffed his hands in his pockets, turning away from the pair. “If you start bullshit like that in my establishment again, i’ll make sure you never step foot in another casino for the rest of your life, you hear?”

The boy clenched his jaw, but gave a weak agreement before Yoongi stomped off, muttering about ‘disrespectful snot nosed kids’.

“I’m nineteen, by the way. Not a kid.” The Yugyeom kid said, not paying any mind to how the older scanned his sharp profile in approval, filing the information away in his brain for later.

“I see,” he started, still giving the kid appreciative looks he most likely noticed by now. Shit, he’s hot—it ain’t Bambam’s fault.

“Where’d you learn to play like that, huh?”

The kid gave a lengthy once over to Bambam before turning away. His cheeks were lightly dusted with pink.

“Just come out with it. I know you want to.”

Bambam chuckled in amusement at his confident attitude, nudging the tall boy with his elbow.

“You tricked them, didn’t you?”

The boy looked confused as to why Bambam wasn’t furious like Yoongi was a minute ago, keeling his mouth shut for about a minute before he decided the man wasn’t gonna do anything.

“I was just playin' the game how I was taught...” he paused, waiting for a name to ingrain into his mind for the next time.

And if Yugyeom had anything to say about it, there would _definitely_ be a next time.

“Bambam.”

 _“Bambam...”_ He said it over again, a small smile gracing his lips before he bowed a little in a traditional Korean manner than made the older laugh. “I heard everyone get quiet when you came. The other guy owns this place, so what’s your deal?”

“My deal." Bambam repeated, realizing Yugyeom had picked up the fact he was someone known around there. "I’ll tell you after I see.”

“After you see… what?”

The raven haired man nodded his head towards the gaming table him and Yoongi were planning to play at.

“After I see how well you can trick the trickster.”

Bambam pulled out his cards and Yugyeom grinned mischievously. This kid was _definitely_ something else, and he was going to find out all about it.

“I’ll play you,” Yugyeom started, a giddiness making him practically bounce in place. “On _one_ condition, though.”

The older’s brows rose comically high. Kid had a lot of nerve to be giving _him_ conditions when they just met. He was a bit _too_ brave, but Bambam was definitely all for it. It reminded him of his own nineteen year old self, really. His attitude only made Bambam wonder what made _him_ this way.

Yugyeom tipped his head to the side, rolling cramps out of his lengthy neck before his kohl smudged eyes locked with Bambam’s in a dead serious gaze.

“If I win… you take me to Mark Tuan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for waiting on me so long <3


	9. ACT IV PT II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark and Bambam touch bases before the funeral of his late father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna try to shorten chapters so yall can recieve them better? I feel like I lay too much on at once, but here's the first part of what i've been slaving over and the first chapter of the new year! <3

**ACT IV PART II: CENTERFOLD**

 

The slick, crisp feel of the bills slipped through Bambam’s fingers with ease, mind counting through every value once, twice, three times over with no room for error as usual. The sound of the television bled away in the background, yet none of it registered in his exhausted state.

 

_“Make sure to join us tomorrow night at eight pm, we have the exclusive primetime interview with the son of recently deceased California drug kingpin Raymond Tuan—“_

 

Wait, _what?_

 

Bambam’s head jerked up, mouth falling open at the sight of what was definitely a made-up, camera ready _Mark_ on screen. Now, he was only a ripe twenty years old and had seen things that could give a gangster nightmares. For a lifetime. But this, oh man, _this._ Seeing Mark fucking Tuan chopping it up with a journalist every person in America with cable can recognize with no fucks given was top ten.

 

He knew, shit they _all_ knew about Mark’s plan to start engaging the media; but seeing it commence with his own two eyes at such a colossal level was absolutely polarizing.

 

Bambam felt his mouth go dry, turning up the volume on the chunky black remote.

 

More clips were shown, the previews running back to back to ensure _all_ of America was to tune in to see their new hottest enemy getting grilled by mean-old-Barbara until he broke to tears.

 

(Of course he would, to get all of their sympathy just as quick as they denounced him. Mark was charming that way.)

 

Bambam was _sure_ no one would miss it.

 

“Unbelievable.”

 

He chuckled, eyes lingering on the tv in a daze long after the previews ended. There was no hiding anymore. And now that Mark so unabashedly presented himself—not for anyone.

 

“That’s too bad, I thought we were _really_ connecting there.”

 

Bambam jumped at the sudden intrusion, recognizing the voice of the now very _public_ figure echoing across the cozy living room.

 

“Hey.”

 

“—Hi.”

 

They spoke over each other in the same short manner, staring at each other in the silence they created.

 

Mark must have come in earlier while he was counting his money, because he hadn’t heard a damn thing and he was right there at the entrance waiting for him. Was he _that_ out of these days?

 

Just like he read his mind, Mark said:

 

“If I had a vendetta, you’d be dead already.”

 

Bambam licked his lips, carefully placing the money down on the glass top coffee table. He wasn’t looking at Mark, rather the old white faces on the bills.

 

“Funny… cus’ your daddy’s dead and you’re flauntin’ yourself all on the news,” Bambam clicked the tv off, staring at his reflection in the pitch black screen. “You got somethin’. Be it a vendetta or...”

 

Normally, Mark would’ve snapped at anyone who spoke to him the way he just did and Bambam knew that. That’s exactly why he did it.

 

“Or what?”

 

_A death wish._

 

But Bambam wasn’t looking to push his luck any further and Mark seemed to sense this as well. The click of his dress shoes were prominent across the hardwood. Then they paused, presumably with him looking over the bills spread across the table.

 

“See you had a good night...”

 

“I always have a good night.” Bambam quipped, staring at the thick stack of cash beneath his fingers. All he strived for were good nights, turning mediocre ones into the extraordinary. Magic on the outside, dodging hot headed peers and shitty suppliers on the inside. Bambam chuckled softly, ignoring the footsteps coming up closer from behind him. There’s no other _choice_ but to be extraordinary.

 

“What product?”

 

“Blow. Wanted to push some X but the supplier got canned last minute.”

 

The younger pursed his lips as soon as it slipped out. Damn.

 _In_ _five..four..three.._

 

“Youngjae hasn’t been giving you ecstasy or any pills for that matter yet.”

 

“He didn’t give me or anybody _shit_ since that break you gave ‘em _._ The fuck am I supposed to do? Sit on my ass and wait, pretty boy?” Bambam felt his head throbbing. He wanted a hot bath, not an interrogation. “Money don’t fuckin’ wait.”

 

“But _you_ do. That’s _exactly_ what you do because we’re the ones supplying you.” Mark sounded pissed, but the younger didn’t care. He did what he had to. “The loser you _tried_ to get shit from is in jail now.”

 

Mark’s hands came down on Bambam’s shoulders from behind.

 

“Safety. Reliability. That’s what I give you. Understand?”

 

The raven haired man clenched his jaw at the simple way the words were broken down, like a third grade teacher, turning his head to face the elders straight on.

 

Safe and reliable, his ass. More like suffocating and restrictive.

 

“Yeah, I get it, you know that.”

 

 _“Yeah,”_ Mark repeated, a smirk growing on his face as he ran a hand through Bambam’s hair, ruffling it atop his head. Bambam guessed the was forgiven now. “Come.”

 

He vaguely nodded towards the hall, turning before Bambam could see where he went. Whatever. He crossed his arms, giving one last look to the cash before padding his feet through the coral carpeted halls.

 

It was like deja vu.

 

Bambam sitting on the edge of what was presumably Mark’s bed while the other watched him, but rather than a joint between the elders fingers it was a thick cigar that quickly permeated the air. It was like back in New York when they first met. But now, he didn’t even bother to make himself comfortable while waiting on the older to start. Now, Mark was immediately ripping his clothes off, not even bothering to warn anyone before they were discarded on the ground without a care. Bambam’s eyes widened before he quickly tore them away, finding the ugly floral wallpaper way more interesting at that moment.

 

He waited and waited, biting his bottom lip before he looked back up again.

 

Standing at the bedside table, polluting the air with smoke in nothing but skin tight boxers, things started to look familiar again. But he didn’t feel that way. Bambam didn’t know why or what was particularly _different_ ; why the sight of the man’s practically naked body didn’t affect him the same way it did when he was nineteen.

 

Why it felt… dare he say it, _wrong_ , now.

 

Mark rummaged through the bare drawers, throwing a pair of sweatpants on the bed before his eyes connected with his. The younger bit the inside of his cheek, feeling eyes all over his form for longer than usual before he raked through the dresser again. It looked like the clothes were put there fairly recently.

 

“Here.”

 

A big ass shirt and a pair of gym shorts were thrown his way. He rose his brows, the dangling question in the air.

 

“You’re staying the night. Thought you knew.”

 

Bambam let out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding when Mark finally pulled his pants over his hips.

 

“Course not, pretty.” Bambam responded, jeans suddenly feeling very uncomfortable on his skin. He wasn’t told he was staying—he wasn’t really told _anything._

 

This house was small, considerably smaller than he had expreciened in a long while. This couldn’t be Mark’s personal home, yet the elder moved within it like it was.

 

 _Well, good for him,_ Bambam thought. Even with the tv on and a fireplace going he couldn’t get comfortable for the life of him.

 

“I don’t even know where the hell I am half the time, forgive me.”

 

Mark chuckled at the youngers honesty; still as frank and blunt as the day he met him. But it was clear that the boy, now _man,_ in front of him had changed in their time together. It was time he treated him as such.

 

“Ah. Is this why I haven’t seen you in awhile?” Mark sat on the bed, watching as the raven haired man stayed rooted in his spot, eyes averted from his own.

 

“You know, I was born for this. To look for people who don’t wanna be found. All this secrecy does is make me wonder what’s goin’ on in that pretty little head of yours even more.”

 

Bambam no doubt sensed the underlying question in Mark’s tone.

 

“Oh, _secrecy,_ huh. You still mad ‘bout earlier, pretty boy?” The younger smirked at the brunette, struggling not to bristle when he got nothing in response. “Nobody’s keeping any secrets. I was just tryna keep busy.”

 

Mark took longer than usual to respond, and Bambam hated when he did that. It gave him too much time to revise every word that came out of his mouth, like he was _guilty_ or something.

 

“Just trying to keep _busy…_ ” Mark parroted, gently running a hand over Bambam’s hair a few times in the silence. He waited for the younger to relax a bit under his touch, let the tension in his shoulders go—the defensive curve of his voice he didn’t think was there.

 

“I’m not attacking you, babe. We all, me personally, just been a little worried about you nowadays.”

 

“Worried about… _me.”_ Bambam let the words slosh uncomfortably on his tongue. Why would they worry about him? He did the same thing day after day and his motives were simple. Cash, profit, respect.

 

“Yeah, you.” Mark flashed a smile before his eyes went searching again. “How have you been doing since that trip?”

 

Mexico. Bambam’s shoulders locked, eyes stuck down at the bedspread searching for an explanation before a finger swiftly tipped his chin up.

 

Bambam’s motives _were_ simple. Once upon a time.

 

Mark caressed the side of his face, tipping his own head in intrigue when he saw something _different_ behind the youngers gaze. Something a tad familiar. Yes, exhaustion (clearly the younger wasn't sleeping) but something _else._

 

“I can handle myself, pretty boy.”

 

Mark hummed brightly, like a deal was confirmed. Bambam’s statements, those _lines,_ dancing through one ear through the other. Maybe once they would’ve worked, and they did. But that’s all they were. Lines.

 

He’d play along just a bit longer if that’s what he wanted.

 

“I know you can.” Mark hooked his thumb across Bambam’s bottom lip, dragging it across the pillowly surface. His body was stiff, tongue caught in his throat. He was thinking too hard.

 

In a snap, the bed shifted under their weight, then suddenly a look that was surprisingly kin to concern was painted on Mark’s face.

 

 _What the fuck is happening?_ Bambam thought. The look disarmed him for a second, having him analyze every muscle to see if it, the concern, was real. No one had looked at him that way since…well, since _Jackson._

 

Bambam felt his face flush in embarrassment at the man’s deep stare. He bit the inside of his cheek, dragging his eyes from the thick comforter back to Mark.  

 

The man across from him didn’t have the _look_ of a griever.

 

He wasn’t stupid, he knew everyone mourned in their own ways but Mark… he actually looked more rested than he had since he’d seen him last. Or maybe Bambam’s wrong. Maybe it’s just the makeup they pack on for his new tv appearances fooling him.

 

“Hoseok told me.”

 

Bambam’s heart slammed.

 

_Shit._

 

In the middle of his analysis, the man had caught him at his weakest. The words were vague but they were _enough._

 

“What are you talking about?”

 

Enough to instill so much panic in the younger he had to sit on his hands to keep him from clutching the sheets. They could mean anything—from the trip, to the club a couple nights ago.

 

It was vague, yes, but oh so _obvious._

 

“What’s his name...” Mark chuckled to himself, a finger on his temple like he was searching for the name he undoubtedly knew for dramatic purposes. It reminded him of Taehyung.

 

He felt his stomach twist in guilt at the comparison.

And now everything, _everything_ the redhead told him about the man in front of him in Mexico decided to flood back at that very moment. He felt his eyes heating, becoming itchy and unbearable. He didn’t wanna be seen, didn’t wanna be _looked at._

 

“Chae Hyungwon.”

 

Bambam just knew all the color had drained from his face, sharply turning his body from the older before Mark tsked, turning him back just as easily by his shoulders.

 

 _“Ah, ah, ah,_ none of that shit, Bambam. Look at me.”

 

His chest felt tighter and the room felt smaller, like there wasn’t enough air for the both of them. He didn’t wanna think about this any longer.

 

“You did pretty good. There’s no trace of him anywhere, nothing leading back to you.”

 

Bambam fought the urge to grimace at the fact he was praising him for ending someone’s life or the _validation_ he felt.

 

He felt a gentle hand in his hair again. “You did what you had to do. I understand that, we all do. It shows me how much you can handle, how valuable you are. But you made _one_ little mistake.”

 

Bambam looked curiously up at the older, eyes shining with frustrated tears, conflicted emotions of confusion and fear; a storm brewed inside as Mark appealed to the youngers complex for praise.

 

“That bartender.”

 

Bambam sucked in a breath. _Fuck,_ he did forget about that. He was watching them speak.

 

“You gotta make that animosity a little less obvious to people—dude saw it all over you _.”_

 

Mark chuckled at the youngers horrified expression.

 

“Hoseok sent more guys, they cleaned up after you, so don’t worry.” He smirked, becoming privy to the youngers range of emotions that expanded in such a short amount of time. It took _no_ time to rile him up. Definitely a regression from how he used to be, but nothing detrimental so far.

 

“Safety and reliability… that’s what you meant.”

 

 _“Atta boy…_ you’re finally starting to get it. You need me to keep _you_ out of your own way.” Mark said matter-of-factly. “And to tell you when to quit crying. You were never this soft before, huh.” Mark stopped himself, memories of a year ago, of the younger crying for him in dirty phone booth in a flimsy t-shirt flashing in his mind's eye.

 

It was quiet for a while. Bambam’s jaw clenched tight, his insides curling in on itself thinking about that time just a year ago. So much angst, so much panic, repressed memories, shit he should’ve seen someone for but didn’t.

 

“What’s wrong with you, Bambam?”

 

The younger heard the question, his trained ears recognized the order in it no matter how softly he presented it. But right now, he couldn’t get past _one_ thought once it hit him.

 

“Did you do it?”

 

Mark raised a brow.

 

“A year ago… d-did you have—“ he couldn’t even force the names out of his mouth, the disgust filling him up with mirth and leaving him lockjaw. “Did you have Wayne and Trip killed?”

 

Mark let out a huge sigh. He knew this day would come, but it wasn’t supposed to happen this soon.

 

“You didn’t see the news. Mr. Garrett committed suicide from the tanking of his business. Wife walked right in on it— _brutal_ sight.”

 

He’d say he was shocked, but he wasn’t. He didn’t even know Wayne and Trip were dead until Taehyung told him, and even then he refused to take in the information because they were arguing.

 

_“Mark…”_

 

“Now Hansen… he just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Bullet straight through his head, heard it split it right open like a melon. Seemed pretty aligned with God’s plan, if you ask me.”

 

God, Bambam didn’t believe a fucking word of it, thinking Taehyung was jealous or straight up _delirious._ Hearing it come from the horse's mouth with not one ounce of shame was different experience. It made it… _reality._

 

He knew the man was _far_ from an angel but this was information that could’ve changed the direction of _everything._

 

Wayne was probably already hung in his apartment when they smashed his car to bits.

 

 _“Wh-Why?_ Why would you _do_ that?!” Bambam internally rolled his eyes at himself, that was a dumb question for a mafia leader. He clarified, avoiding the elders stormy expression. Bambam’s hazel eyes shot daggers as Mark sat up straight, all signs of concern gone, replaced with a dark gaze. Bambam followed his posture, not letting himself be swayed by the man. Not any longer.

 

“Come on with it! Why did you lie to me? You thought I wouldn’t follow behind you like a lost puppy anymore if I knew who you really were? _Well, guess what?_ I’m still here and you’re just a fuckin'  _liar!”_

 

Mark’s composure finally snapped then. “What the hell did you _think_ was gonna happen if I didn’t take care of it, Bambam? Tell me. What if I had left you in Manhattan, gone back earlier _before_ you called me… what if you were _stuck_ at that fucking photoshoot?“

 

“Stop it.”

 

“What if you got yourself into some stupid contract with that fucking asshole and ended up dead in the street some fucking where! This shit is _happening,_ Bambam, you were a goddamn _kid—“_

 

“Shut up!” Bambam shouted, throwing his hands over his ears. “Shut up! Shut up! _Shut up!_ ”

 

Mark tore his eyes away from the younger. He was entirely frozen except for the trembling wracking his entire body, not reacting to word or touch from the elder. Bambam obviously checked out for a second, but he’d come to eventually, be it tonight or the morning. After that he’d talk to him properly.

 

For now, Mark was reminiscing on his own behalf.

 

That fucking _bitch._

 

_-_

 

_“We… we have to stop this.”_

 

_Mark was panting like he ran a mile, chest heaving up and down so hard he thought he needed an inhaler. He carefully reached over to his bedside for the coke he was indulging himself in when a dainty hand stopped him short, dragging it back towards him._

 

_“I’m serious.”_

 

_“Stop what, baby? You already worn out?”_

 

_He let out a chuckle when the man he’d had his cock shoved into for the past couple hours narrowed his eyes at him. He knew what he meant. Mark snagged the coke anyway, pushing his body down flat onto the bed._

 

_“You’re ridiculous.”_

 

_“And you’re too fucked out… to be talking so much, Taetae.”_

 

_The redhead bristled at the nickname, being reminded of the best friend who he’d told he was gonna be out of town to hour before. Instead he was here._

 

_It was exactly what it looked like. But he had his reasons. Damn good ones._

 

_“C’mere,” Mark dragged his body close, lining the white powder up on the model’s tight stomach. “Hundred percent colombian—fresh supply.”_

 

_“Oh really,” Taehyung quipped mindlessly, running his hands through Mark’s disheveled brown hair as he sniffed it through a hundred dollar bill, letting out a sigh when he came back up. He licked the tiny amount left from around his belly button, connecting their lips in a sloppy kiss. He chuckled when the coke touched Taehyung’s mouth, hearing the needy moan that escaped him a few minutes after._

 

_“Told you it was good.”_

 

_“Save some for later.”_

 

_A little after that the atmosphere had become somber, Mark was laying there discussing anything that came to him, including the day’s profits._

 

_“Bam sold everything I gave in a day and doubled it from last time,” Mark rubbed a hand across Taehyung’s soft hair. Personally, he thought the red was a little too much, but it made him no less easy to look at. “Doubled. Our baby’s a little prodigy.”_

 

_Taehyung went silent at that, anxiety building inside of his chest. Mark sensed it, thinking he was over worrying about their arrangement and Jinyoung finding out (as if the man gave a fuck)._

 

_The redhead seemed to always be lost in his own thoughts, going from hesitant and pilant, to domineering and hot depending on the day. And how sober he happened to be. That too also depended on Mark seeing as he was the one who supplied him._

 

_He connected their lips again, easily spreading his golden legs apart with splayed hands._

 

_“Last chance. Still wanna tap out?”_

 

_The redhead nodded negative, a whine fighting to escape when Mark tightened his grip on his thighs._

 

_“Good. ‘Cause i’m not done with you just yet.”_

 

_Mark thought everything was fine between them. Easy, fun, satisfying on both ends. But the next time they saw each other, it was clear Mark should’ve probed his mind more when he got the chance._

 

_Two newspapers landed on his desk. One desperate, wide eyed actor stood in front of him._

 

_Mark’s left eye twitched._

 

_“Taehyung, don’t.”_

 

_“I-I can’t keep it inside anymore! Makes me sick everytime I look at you, look at my best friend and I remember that you—“ Taehyung’s eyes welled up, his voice rising an octave every word. Mark looked towards the door. Jinyoung wasn’t around, everyone either wasted at the club, in a suite or at home by now. It was almost two or three in the morning._

 

_“What do you want from him?”_

 

_“I told you to keep your fucking mouth shut. Lower your god damn voice.”_

 

_“I have! I-“ he backtracked, running his hands through his hair before he continued, deep voice dropping even lower with his anger. “I knew you were too good to be true. Bambam’s a kid, he don’t fuckin’ need you lyin’ and draggin’ him into your… your bullshit. The drugs are one thing, but this? You’re trapping him!”_

 

_“You’re lucky you look like you do. I should kill you for causing me so much damn trouble,” Mark shook his head, but suddenly, an amused giggle erupted from him that made the redhead stumble back, confused._

 

_“But you planned this so well, huh? Suck my dick, get all the info, the drugs, everything. Put me in a corner. Truth is… truth is you’re just as sick as me. Just as selfish and self serving as you wanna be...”_

 

_“If you wanted me dead I would’ve been. You knew what I was doing.” Taehyung leaned over the desk, diamonds dangling from his ears when he whispered into Mark’s. “That didn’t stop you from fuckin’ me silly for two months straight, huh? Or are you just a little pervert?”_

 

_“You think you’re special ‘cause I fucked you?” Mark scoffed. “You’re ignorant to this life, Taehyung. So, so, ignorant.” He leaned back in his chair, taking the news papers and throwing it in the trash bin beside him. The redhead took a seat. He refused to leave now._

 

_“Ignorant.” Taehyung parroted, crossing his arms. “Humor me, Jackass. No bullshit, no more arrangements. This is what I came for in the first place.”_

 

_Mark tsked, coming around his desk and crouching so him and the man were eye level._

 

_It’s a shame. He’d put a bullet through his pretty little head if it wasn’t for Bambam._

 

_“Okay. Since you got this far and wanna play in the big leagues now, I’ll let you in on a couple secrets. Let them leave this office and i'll have you running like a rat in the streets every damn day until I feel like stopping."_

 

_Taehyung clenched his jaw, biting out an agreement before Mark began._

 

_“Now, Wayne Garrett. Wall street hotshot, over-ambitious investor. He, like many of those types, got too wrapped up in the extracurriculars and decided to dip their investments into shit they weren’t taught at their stuffy universities. He still had his company, but with that he was gaining profit from an even more lucrative business.”_

 

_Taehyung felt his breath become shallow._

 

_“One that involved pretty young girls and boys like our friend Bambam. Have a guess what it could possibly be, baby?_

 

_Taehyung bristled at the nickname before his eyes widened in horror._

 

_“Don’t tell me it’s…”_

 

_Mark smirked at the redhead’s paling expression. “Sex trafficking. He was a recruiter for numerous gangs in the city, trading in underaged aspiring models to brothels and rolling around in the profits. Gave fuck all what happened to them.”_

 

_“But—but my agency…”_

 

_“Your shitty agency was paid off for their silence. Now as I was saying, Bambam was in a pretty bad spot. The night he called me, that photographer Trip was this close to… sampling the product if you know what I mean. The scumbag was known for that shit, apparently.”_

 

_“H-He was. There were so many allegations, but none were ever proven s-so it never affected em’... fuck.”_

 

_Fat tears rolled down Taehyung’s face, clearly remembering how panicked Bambam was when he asked him about what happened, alluding but never going in detail._

 

_The guilt he felt for not trying harder to make him stay._

 

_“If he remained any longer under Garrett’s ‘management’, he would’ve left for a shoot and never fuckin’ came back. Either raped, working a brothel, beat to death by some pimp, AIDS… you know the story.”_

 

_Taehyung wiped his tears, fists clenched in his lap as he tried to gain his bearings._

 

_“In a way it was inevitable, his death. Dude was an idiot, couldn’t even keep his own business in check let alone the underground shit. Had hits on his head before I even came around. But there was no way I was letting him take Bambam down with him.”_

 

_The redhead gave a frustrated groan, long fingers yanking at his scalp—kinda like how he would when Taehyung gave him a blowjob. Took everything in him not to chuckle at the image and where they are now. The bitch played him. What a life._

 

_“But why would you care enough to do that? You only knew him for what—five fuckin’ minutes?”_

 

_“You can relate to that, can’t you? After all, you followed him all the way across the country despite knowing him for a week or two tops, am I right?”_

 

_“That—that’s fucking different! I care about him!”_

 

_“But why do you care so much, Tae?” Mark wiped a stray tear from the youngers eye, laughing when he tried to shove his hand away. “Be real, baby. It’s just me and you.” His voice dropped down to a low whisper. “You in love with him or something?”_

 

_Taehyung’s mouth twisted into a disgusted sneer._

 

_“Are you, asshole?!”_

 

_Mark tipped his head to the side. “Depends. How worthless would you feel if I said yes?”_

 

_“God, I hate you.” Taehyung spat, shooting up from his seat. He wanted to wipe that stupid smirk off of his face once and for all. “You’re fuckin’ sick and I hate you.”_

 

_The mafia leader laughed, giving Taehyung a once over. It was truly pathetic. Anyone with eyes could see the state he’s in now—sunken eyes, clammy skin—and know what he gets up to in his free time._

 

_“So are you… I don’t see you checking yourself into a rehab. Saw it in your eyes the moment we met. What makes you think Bam’s gonna believe you… the words of an addict over mine.”_

 

_Immediately after he said that, the redhead let out a rage filled yell, taking the glass of wine on his desk and chucking it against the wall._

 

_Mark just stared. He guessed he pushed a button or two._

 

_Taehyung grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, bringing him close as he snarled into his face with so much hatred in his eyes it amused him. He had all this energy now, but as soon as he steps one foot out of here he’ll be burning up, begging for another hit to starve off the comedown. And nothing would ever be as good as the shit Mark was giving him._

 

_This was exactly why Taehyung could never be of use to him, no matter how good he fucked or how clever his little plan was. There were pretty boys like him all over the state—at least Bambam had something special for Mark to mold._

 

_Kim Taehyung was far from special._

 

_“I’m done with this shit! Bammie’s gonna see you for who you are and I can’t fuckin wait, you goddamn coward!”_

 

_The door to the office swung open, revealing a shocked Jimin standing at the doorway._

 

_“Mark… V? What the fuck is going on?”_

 

_The brunette licked his lips, chuckling at how Taehyung quickly let him go, shoving him back as if Jimin hadn’t already seen._

 

_The latter looked between them, eyes wide at the usually happy go lucky close friend he’d made looking like he was two seconds from ripping Mark’s throat out. The shattered glass across the carpet beside them made him even more shaken._

 

_Just what the hell did he walk into?_

 

_Jimin cautiously stepped towards the redhead, not even flinching when the man jerked from his touch, never taking his piercing eyes off the smug brunette. Mark waved them both away._

 

_“Escort him out, Jimin. Make sure he never steps foot in my office again. Threaten him, bribe him, whatever—do it. Bambam can’t know about this.”_

 

_-_

 

When Mark was finally back to the present, he noticed the younger was no longer in bed with him.

 

“Bambam?”

 

He climbed out of the bed and into the hallway, grabbing a robe that hung on his doorknob. There was no way the younger could leave without getting lost. They were nowhere near the city. “Bam, come out now, babe. Thought I told you about being so sensitive. Let me explain.”

 

Mark walked past the bathroom, backtracking when he heard shuffling and water running through the door. He knocked twice, getting no answer before he let himself in.

 

The raven haired boy was standing at the sink, leather jacket discarded on the floor. His makeup was washed off, his hair disheveled and wet.

 

“You explained enough. I ain't stayin’ the night.”

 

Mark took note of his rigid demeanor, leaning against the doorway as he stared at the younger in the mirror. Mark spoke first.

 

“Taehyung told you.”

 

“No.“

 

“Stop. I know he did ‘cause I told him a long time ago. He didn’t know about Black Lotus and my position until that trip, I assume. It all came together for him then.”

 

Bambam bit the inside of his cheek, looking down at the floor. He contributed to this by never telling Taehyung a thing about Black Lotus, and he was agreeing with Jimin as well. He thought it was the right thing to do to keep him safe… but it wasn’t.

 

“We had a fight…”

 

No one said a thing for a while. And through every moment that passed—Mark closing the door and taking a seat on the small toilet beside him, placing the shorts and shirt in his hands, handing the younger a cigarette from the pack in the medicine cabinet: It was obvious how exhausted the younger had become.

 

“Thought you two were thick as thieves.”

 

The younger chuckled sadly at Mark, green eyes staring back at himself in the mirror. “He snapped after he found out about the cartel deal, said some things I didn’t mean...ain’t been the same since.”

 

“I didn’t know any of that would ha—“

 

“Nobody bombs their own yacht. I aint an idiot.” Bambam’s voice wavered, a forced control over his expression. “Whatever. Hyungwon left Tae passed out… me and Jackson saved him just in time.”

 

The younger smoothed out the wrinkles in his shirt. Mark sensed he had more to say, taking the time for him to clear the air and for him to scope the situation more for himself.

 

“I don’t owe you an explanation, you know. You did the same thing. Taking people out. But I did it to protect, while you’re just…” Bambam let that be known defiantly, somehow trying to make sense of his actions in his mind. Make Mark look worse than he did. Whatever helped him sleep at night, be his guest.

 

“Go on. What am I?”

 

“You use people. I did the _right_ thing.... a-and you have no idea what the hell it was like! He fucked with Tae’s head, Mark. Bad.” Bambam sat on the edge of the tub, fumbling with a lighter in his hands. “Had em’ thinkin’ I was the bad guy… _me._ His best friend.”

 

The elder hummed. Taehyung ran to Hyungwon for his fix after him and Mark fell out. Maybe even to feel less lonely while Bambam was working for him.

 

“Look. It’s time to get comfortable with the fact that you _are_ the bad guy in this story now. Me, you, even Taehyung has some skeletons in his closet i’m sure. We all lie, we use people to get farther. It becomes pretty normal once you realize how useless being a saint is.”

 

Bambam looked over at the older. His dark hair falling over his eyes, cigarette tight between his lips.

 

“Being good leaves you dead, in debt, or worse—broke.”

 

A year ago, Mark would be _wrong_ and he’d feel sorry for the fact he probably was raised this way. But now, he thought about Taehyung the other day, how he socked him right in the face, looked at Bambam like a monster, all while feeling like one _himself_ after Mexico. He couldn’t accept the truth.

 

They were all becoming the bad guys. That was the reality.

 

“That’s one shitty apology.”

 

“Won’t change how you feel about me either way.”

 

A stretch of silence and the smell of tobacco filled the space.

 

“What’s gonna happen now?”

 

Mark licked his lips, sensing the many nuances behind the question. Bambam now knew the _one_ thing he tried to keep from him from the beginning and he wasn’t sure how to tread. He hasn’t run away from him yet, so they must still be good somehow.

 

“Change. A whole lot of change.” The elder sighed, a small smirk on his lips. “But first, I have to make sure everybody with me can handle that. This ain’t gonna be easy, it never is. Top guy goes out, so does every one of his men... I’m in the most vulnerable position in the world. But i’ve never felt stronger.”

 

Bambam tipped his head back, feeling it softly land against the wall. For the first time in a long time, he wondered how his mother was doing.

 

“Why me?”

 

Mark had a twinkle of anticipation and something _else_ in his eyes that made Bambam’s stomach turn. But he couldn’t tear his eyes away, not now. He was so close to hearing the reason—the _why_ he’d been unconsciously searching for ever since Mark slithered his way into his life.

 

The reason he taught him how to turn Bambam’s hustle into an art when his paintbrushes laid dormant.

 

“Black Lotus is having initiation soon. I’m choosing the best of the best to stand by me… I finally have Los Angeles, my home...and I plan to make it known to _everyone_ that I do. It needs to be protected.

 

_Bingo._

 

The raven haired man stilled, mouth opening and closing, brows furrowed.

 

Mark planned everything, had it all lined up so Bambam was standing where he was standing now, receiving this very offer.

 

_Accepting it._

 

The facts were clear as day: Mark wanted Bambam to be in Black Lotus. Simple as that. But there had to be more to this. There was always more. And Bambam wasn’t sure how much _more_ he could take from this. From him.

 

Bambam slowly got up, leaning against the lavender painted wall behind him with a sigh.

 

This is what Mark trained him for, and the time was now. The boss was ready to lay all of his cards on the table to get what he desired.

 

“What do you want? Name it. I’ll make it an apology gift to you.”

 

“What?”

 

_“Name it.”_

 

Bambam crossed his arms. He could put up anything now; money, jewels, that sweet new audi he saw sitting in one of the luxury car lots...

 

The thing was, Bambam didn’t _want_ Mark dangling those things in his face anymore, thinking he’d just accept because it’s pretty and worth shit— _no._

 

Those days were long gone.

 

Mark _killed_ for him and Bambam used those same resources to kill someone else. He was in debt to this mafia long before he knew it. There wasn’t a fucking choice in it. And still, he desired one last thing to make it _all_ worth it.

 

“Kim Taehyung’s immunity.”

 

Bambam perked up when he saw Mark’s smile falter.

 

“No contact. No requests. No _bounties._ Anything happens to him and you can count me out for good. I’ll move back home and take the cars and my best connects with me. How’s that sound, pretty boy?”

 

 _Damn, he’s good._ Mark tongued his cheek at that, earning a brow raise from the younger.

 

“Alright, relax. He’s out. Nothing will happen to him, you have my word. But it has to go _both_ ways though.”

 

Bambam picked up on the brunette’s stormy gaze at the mention of his best friend. Weird. He filed it away in the back of his mind, putting a smirk right on his face. He’d never move back to Manhattan, but he had to use something in place of the _real_ plan should Mark cross him.

 

“Oh trust me, it’s definitely mutual.”

 

“Then it’s settled.”

 

Mark got up, gesturing for Bambam to leave first until the other stopped in his tracks.

 

“You got somethin’ to add?”

 

Bambam gave him a sharp smile, running a tentative hand over Mark’s arm. If he was going to be _anyone’s_ pawn, he wouldn’t show up without a few of his own. Or just one.

 

“Jackson. He has to be on my team during initiation. We work well together.”

 

“I see.” Mark leaned forward, tipped his chin up with one hand. “It’s a deal, gorgeous. Glad you accepted my apology.”

 

There was mirth in Mark’s smile as he ultimately agreed, even going on to say he planned to do that anyways when he heard how close they were. It didn’t look like he was lying about that, weirdly enough.

 

Bambam quirked a brow. “That easy?”

 

“That easy.”

 

But the man also knew Mark took a real liking to Jackson, and that’s _exactly_ why he made sure to secure the blonde by his side. There was no telling what would happen with him during initiation if he didn’t. He didn’t want the two spending more time together than necessary.

 

Oh, and Jackson getting hurt also wasn’t very ideal at all.

 

The two silently walked out into the living room, Mark sat down and recounted the money, carefully separating Bambam’s share in another pile while the younger looked around the room for the first time.

 

“So, I didn’t get a chance to ask. Why do you want everyone to know who you are now?”

 

Mark looked up, watching Bambam eye an oil painting on the wall. He heard the younger had done art, but he hadn’t been able to see any of his work himself.

 

“Because Raymond didn’t.”

 

_Honk!_

 

The sound of the car outside made the both of them turn towards the door before Mark promptly got up to his feet, handing Bambam the money and the black blindfold he had to wear in the car on the way there.

 

He was staring at the etched design on the front door before his vision was shrouded in black, Mark’s nimble fingers carefully tying the blindfold so it fit comfortably around his head.

 

“I don’t care that they’re dead.”

 

Mark’s hands stilled, ears straining to hear what he _thought_ the man just whispered.

 

“What’d you say?”

 

“I don’t care, I know I freaked out on you but… it’s just the fact you lied about it and told Taehyung before me. I trusted you. I-I looked up to you and _you_ used me. No wonder Jinyoung looks at me like i'm fucking stupid...” Bambam said lowly, the animosity seeping through the louder he got. "I thought you respected me a bit more than that."

 

“What are you saying, Bambam?”

 

“I’m sayin’.. I’m sayin I killed them inside my head more times than I can count.” Bambam bit the inside of his cheek. “But I would’ve left _anyway_ if you just—you know, _no._ Just. Home. I wanna lay down, I want a bath. Fuck it.”

 

Mark was silent as usual before heading over to the heavy wooden door to open it for the other. He couldn’t blame him. What _could_ anyone say to that?

 

He felt used _before_ Mark had them killed and he felt used _after._ Because of Mark himself.

 

“Anything else?” Mark asked in a tone considerably tighter, perhaps still taken aback by Bambam’s confession.

 

“About tomorrow. There a dress code or somethin’ or the standard black?”

 

Bambam felt himself being guided outside by hand on the small of his back. He didn’t know why the location had to be so secret, but it was best not to question anything at the moment when it came to Mark. The last thing he felt was the plush surface of leather under him when he sat in the heated vehicle.

 

“You could come naked for all I care as long as you show up. See you then.”

 

"Yeah... see you."

 

 


	10. ACT VI PART I

**ACT VI PART I: WE BUILT THIS CITY**

 

Black looked to be the correct choice after all.

 

Everyone had been wearing the standard hue, making them look quite plain against the setting of the home they were currently gathered in. There were white paper lotus flowers laid all over the lawn and colorful banners with Taiwanese characters hung over their heads.

 

Countless mercedes, vans and limos rounded the block outside of the mansion—castle— _whatever_ the fuck it was, making it extra difficult to get inside. Guards were stood at the tall steel gates outside of the property checking everyone who entered with the _utmost_ caution.

 

Because hey, safety’s still first priority—even at the funeral of one of the most infamous kingpins of the decade.

 

As soon as Bambam finished getting his airport security pat down, his breath caught in his throat at the exaggerated excuse for a foyer in front of his eyes. There, right in the middle of the room, stood a huge solid gold lion statue, surrounded by white lotus flowers that trailed all the way up a glass stairwell, wrapped around the railings.

 

The outside of the mansion was definitely an ode to traditional architecture but the inside was anything but. It was spacious and modern, light coming in from windows in every room, glass tables, marble counters, plush couches that look straight out of a magazine.

 

There was a lot more to it, and of course there was, having just eavesdropped that this was actually only _one_ of Raymond Tuan’s humble abodes in the Los Angeles area alone.

 

In another life, Bambam would be in college studying the blueprints of homes just like these. Just one of his many long, dead, interests he left behind on the concrete of the lower east side.

 

After staring a little longer, Bambam heard familiar laughter and low mumbling chatter coming from down the stairs. He looked up, seeing the man of the hour descending the stairs.

 

Looking sharper than usual; hair pushed back behind his ears instead of over his imploring eyes, one lone strand hanging down.

 

His jewelry was more eye catching today, signature gold watch traded for a slim silver one (ticking backwards of course), fingers adorned with silver rings, diamonds in his ears glinting like stars when the light hit.

 

He was wearing a normal white dress shirt and black dress pants, italian shoes. Tie foregone along with his top buttons—not totally conforming, but far from distasteful.

 

As for his expression, it was just as blank as stock paper.

 

And of course, a dashing Jinyoung trailed right behind him with a smile meant to comfort his lover through his time of need. Turned right into a sick smirk as soon as he spotted Bambam staring at them in the foyer, nudging Mark to look his direction. The older just gave a obligatory nod to the younger and walked right past him.

 

“Who knew a blood thirsty kingpin had such a knack for interior design?”

 

Bambam jumped at the voice coming up from behind him, staring at the hand on his shoulder before looking back with a glare ready to curse whoever it was out for touching him.

 

All he saw was sparking brown eyes and blonde hair.

 

“The roman columns, the lake in the front yard…” Bambam responded in lieu of a greeting, eyes trailing all over the man he hadn’t seen since he ran off like a mad teenager in the club..

 

The man always made him feel off guard, blood running hot with adrenaline and _other_ things he wouldn’t identify.

 

“Yeah, it’s…” Jackson looked around, eyes caught onto a painted portrait of the California King himself hanging right in the foyer like an obnoxious reminder of who’s house they were in. As if they couldn’t already tell.

 

“Stunning.” Bambam slipped out a bit too quickly. Jackson’s suit was perfect on him, tailored well but snug around his pecs and biceps.

 

“I was gonna say overzealous but that works too. Definitely works.”

 

Jackson chewed his lip in what he hoped was discreet distress. He had no doubt noticed the hazel eyes raking over his form before he stepped back, stuffing his hands in his suit pocket (creating much needed space between the both of them).

 

He slightly bumped into someone as he did it. It was like a jolt to his senses, waking him up from a daze—a spell. Being normal, in character, around the man was growing to be even more difficult.

 

_There are other people here, Jackson._

 

Bambam chose black on black, he noticed. A black silk blouse under a designer label blazer—way more modest than Jackson was used to seeing him. His hair was done the way it always was, yet his makeup was lighter than he’d ever seen. Hues of brown subtle shadow washed over his lids that made the green in his eyes pop.

 

A beautiful package, of course. But none of it hid the exhaustion he saw clear as day weighing down his shoulders, the tense set of his shoulders that impaired his easy going stature.

 

“I think I love it. You can feel the power in the air, even if the man’s gone. It’s like a vibration. Here forever.”

 

Jackson was hooked onto the soft lilt of his words, watching him bite plump pink lips bitten raw under his nerves. He _personally_ thought the place felt overwhelming and creepy.

 

Nonetheless he needed to talk to Bambam privately before the funeral started. Before they would go their separate ways again. He needed to know if they were on the same page, why the younger kept avoiding and running from him when he asked him to stay by his side.

 

_Was he upset with him?_

 

“Bambam, I- we need to—”

 

Before he could even get his sentence out, there was a small hand on each of their shoulders, squeezing slightly. Jackson definitely recognized them as _Jimin’s_ before he spoke.

 

“What are you guys still doing out here? The ceremony is about to start.” Jimin said, a kind smile on his lips before Bambam jolted out of his daze, looking between them briefly before mumbling something non-committal and fucking off to wherever they had to go.

 

So much for talking.

 

“Wonder why he ran off like that.”

 

Jackson started after the retreating figure maybe a beat too long, missing Jimin casting him a curious, albeit _knowing_ glance.

 

“Cause’ of me.”

 

The blonde straightened up his jacket, avoiding the cotton candy haired man and his pensive stare. 

 

“Let’s get going before we’re late.”

 

-

 

_Excessive._

 

Mark knew that was what everyone else would call this. And he understood how it looked, staring at the back of the professional mourners his family hired heads as they cry out for a man they never knew and were _lucky_ to have never met.

 

The fake stand-in filial son they threw in for novelty—took all of him not to rip everything apart in this tent. This was just a façade, obviously. Most of the people in here were his dad’s lackies, they couldn’t give less of a fuck unless they grew up with the bastard. Dad wasn’t someone who could instill true loyalty that wasn’t based out of fear. But that was all he knew how to do since—

 

He felt a hand crush his, trying to get him to focus on the words of the buddhist monk at the altar ahead of them. Rows went in threes, bowing to the casket that held his father's remains. Or whatever was left of them.

 

Mark could scoff. None of these people, none of them, knew him the way he did.

 

Another squeeze.

 

_/Yien, pay attention!/_

 

_/Respect your elders, Yien/_

 

_/What are you waiting for?/_

 

Mark bit the inside of his cheek, responding shortly as he could in Mandarin. Nothing would help.

 

His dad’s mother, the one all over his ass right now, never accepted Mark for who he was once he grew past her shoulders. _She_ was the one who insisted on the traditional funeral, despite the glaring obscenities and oddities surrounding Raymond's death.

 

She was a rather short woman. Hair salt and pepper like his dad’s, same round eyes as the both of them—now beady and accusing in a way he couldn’t miss. There was a bite behind her watery smile, knives in her words, accusations in her condolences.

 

She’d look at his mother the same way, probably never believing the woman to be enough for her son. What a pain in the ass that probably was.

 

_Mother._

 

No. He took a stuttering breath, inhaling the soft scent of the candle before he kneeled before the altar—before his father. It was ironic, that scene, but it wasn’t all bad. Jinyoung was right beside him, ignoring the glares his grandmother gave as he stuck by his side.

 

He was the only person he could truly trust in this entire mansion, there was no way he wouldn’t be included in this—especially because of his prejudiced family.

 

Mark almost smirked as his head bowed. His dad would come back from death and burn him alive if he knew Jinyoung was here. He bowed to Buddha one last time, stepping back to his his row when the monk recited the very last words of his sermon.

 

_“Just as the cattle for slaughter, whatever their footing, stand on the brink of death, just so is the life of men very short and fleeting. One should wisely understand this, do good deeds and lead a holy life. For no mortal ever escapes death.”_

 

Nirvana was the last place Raymond Tuan will end up.

 

-

 

“I just don’t know if it’s a good—Tuan, you listening?”

 

“Yien.”

 

_“Yien.”_

 

Mark jolted, grabbing for his lover’s hand as the vehicle came to a stop down a familiar path, concealed from view on a pebbled path as it always had been. Almost normal, without a mailbox or streetmarker in sight.

 

“Be careful with them.”

 

“Ashes, I know. I’m not that much a fuck up.”

 

“You _ain’t_ a fuck up.”

 

Jinyoung agreed, laying his hand over the top of the golden box that held the remains of his father, giving an encouraging squeeze to Mark’s shoulder before he eyes the driver getting out to open the door. Yoongi sat across from him, checking over him in that crass-concerned way _only_ Yoongi could.

 

“Go on.” Jinyoung started, pressing a soft kiss to his lips before the door opened.

 

“We’ll pick you up in an hour, head over to Casa Nostra, make sure everything’s straight—it better fuckin’ be.” His lover rambled on about reservations and invites until Yoongi abruptly cut him off.

 

 _“Alright, alright.”_ Yoongi ignored Jinyoung’s affronted look at his nodded at his best friend.

 

“Do what you have to, brother. We’ll be here.”

 

Mark stared after the Mercedes as it disappeared from his vision, only then starting his ascent up the porch steps. His breathing was shallow, palms gripping the golden box of ashes like his own life depended on it.

 

The house was secluded from everyone else in a way that made him nervous for the first time since he was a kid. He dug in his jacket pocket for the key, shaky hands unlocking the door and pushing it open. He swore the faint smell of _home_ was still in the air if he concentrated hard enough.

 

He stepped into the small entryway, toeing off his shoes and lining them against the wall.

 

He felt small in here.

 

Looking around at the couch and the soft pink carpet in the halls with a lump in his throat that wouldn’t go down.

 

_What the hell was he so afraid of? He was here the night before and he was fine._

 

Mark walked into the kitchen next, goosebumps breaking out over his skin at the sight of the familiar light green paint on the walls, the absence of pots on the stove— _that_ was when it hit him.

 

The brunette chuckled, putting the ashes down on the counter.

 

He was alone.

 

Absolutely alone.

 

No one to buffer the feeling of emptiness and ache, no one to front for here but himself. He was facing his own demons.

 

He swiftly entered the living room, setting his sights on the record player sitting in the corner. He crouched down, opening the cabinet of records  below. Once he chose the one he wanted—an old Chet Baker record—feeling weightless as the nostalgic grain of the old b-side flooded the entire room.

 

He closed his eyes, letting the sadness of the singers voice use him as a vessel. He didn’t notice his feet, how they were moving in a box-like step—he was ouright _dancing_ on his own. It was even peaceful for a while. Until he opened his eyes.

 

There, right in front of him, a - cabinet of china dishes collecting dust behind spotless glass, like it was attempted to be cleaned but ultimately wasn’t. Like it just _too_ much.

 

It seemed he wasn’t the only one avoiding his past.

 

Mark cautiously approached the cabinet, barely registering how the record has started to skip, repeating the same line over and over.

 

-

 

_“You ready for the big game, baby?”_

 

_“Yup! Coach says I can still play after all… even if I missed so much school!”_

 

_“Oh, that’s awesome! Isn’t that great, honey?”_

 

 _Raymond looked down at his son, ruffling a hand through his hair with a tight smile. The sight of it made a young Mark frown. What could he do to make his father proud?_ _Even back then, in a past that seems so foreign, his dad was unreachable to him._

 

_“Yien, go to your room and put those new cleats on so daddy can see, okay?”_

 

_“Okay, mommy!”_

 

_As soon as he rounded the corner, he stopped, peeking around it to see his parents talking to themselves the way the always did when they thought Mark wasn’t listening. He’d thought they’d catch on, but he guessed not._

 

_“Lena, no. Don’t you think this is a bad time to be parading about all over town—“_

 

_Mark almost tuned out, the same old bullshit coming out of his dad’s mouth making him sick. He hadn’t been to school, practice, shit, the park to play—in months now._

 

_Just going outside to get fresh air was a ‘risk’ and it was pissing him off. He knew his father was a very important man, but why did they have to be trapped and jailed in their own home because of it?_

 

_“If not now, when, Raymond? He’s eight years old. He needs some kind of a normal life, I mean, everything else is shot to shit either way, isn’t it?”_

 

_“I’m trying to—“_

 

_“Protect us, Raymond, damn it. I know, we know! But these are our kids.”_

 

_“Exactly. They’re our kids! Stop acting like a brat and understand what i’m doing for this family.“_

 

_A strong hand, not like his dad’s, but strong, grabbed his shoulder and pulled him back into his room._

 

_“Stop snooping around on mom and dad, idiot. Who taught you that?”_

 

_Mark’s big innocent eyes narrowed as he looked up at his older brother._

 

 _He must have been coming out of his room and saw Mark. The younger whined as Chris manhandled him way too hard as he tore through the kid’s messy room for his cleats._ _His brother looked a lot like his mom, soft eyes, sable brown hair, pale as ever._

 

_Mark was the opposite. The miniature version of their father._

 

_He found himself envying Chris for that early on._

 

_“You did, idiot.”_

 

_Chris held up the sneakers with a grin, looking fresh and new as the day he got them for Mark. Which was only because he never left the house._

 

_“Guess that’s true, huh?” The 16 year old laughed, beckoning his adorable brother over to him with a dismarming grin. “C’mere baby bro. I also taught you how to tie your own shoes, but here the fuck I am doing it for you.”_

 

_Mark smiled as he spoke, never offering much back in response as he was a quieter child. Body language, physical contact, that meant more to him as the years went by. He guessed he retreated inside of himself after what his young eyes had already experienced._

 

_Chris tied his laces extra tight, working comfortably in the silence._

 

_“Chris…”_

 

_“Yeah, squirt?”_

 

_Mark sensed the apprehension in the older’s voice. “Things are getting better, right? Those guys are gonna leave dad alone…”_

 

_The elder squeezed Mark’s arm with a soft smile. Mark had a very narrow understanding of just how bad things were at that time, they'd thought that was the best thing for him._

 

_“Dad’s got a plan and i’m gonna help. Don’t you worry.”_

 

_“Why can’t he just kill them like everybody else?”_

 

_His brother stiffened, a flash of pity over his eyes. Looking back, it was probably uncomfortable to hear a child talking so candidly about murder. Chris grew up the same way Mark did… but he never became desensitized to the violence. Especially not when he was eight—much to his father’s disdain._

 

_Mark stomped his foot, feeling frustrated when he felt his nose starting to itch and his eyes becoming hot. He hated crying. "I just wanna be normal like all the other kids! I-I wanna g-go to the game a-and play with my friends at school…why can’t I have anything?! Why doesn’t anyone care?!”_

 

_“No, no, no, Yien, shh, we care. It’s just… Dad, he’s just...” Chris wiped his brother’s tears, his own chest caving in at the pain in his eyes already. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t. Surely, their father could at least spare one afternoon for his youngest son. Mark deserved it._

 

_And that’s how Chris and his mom devised a plan to get Mark to the game without his father knowing. It was easy, Chris pointing out new evidence he found against the extremist group targeting Black Lotus now, easily whisking him away long enough for his mother to grab a guard and take Mark to his soccer game. They laughed when it worked, and hell yeah, right? It was genius!_

 

_And soon they’d find out it was the worst mistake they ever made._

 

_The night went perfect, plan went off without a hitch. Their team won the game, Mark made two goals and he couldn’t stop retelling the moments with a blissful joy in his heart that made his mother so happy she could’ve cried—it was the best day ever._

 

_Yet, when they came home, trophy in hand, a furious father and bruised brother waiting for them… Mark started to wake up from his dream. His brother did this for him._

 

_“You won, man?!”_

 

_Chris laughed, a boisterous laugh just like his dad’s when he lifted Mark into the air. And man, Dad was livid. Their mother just sighed and turned to her sons, plates already in hand when she asked them:_

 

_“What do you guy’s want for—“_

 

_Dinner._

 

_That’s what Mark guessed the next word would’ve been._

 

_He couldn’t hear it over the sound of all the glass breaking._

 

_“Lena!”_

 

_“Fuck—Mom!”_

 

_No, not over those gunshots. Not over his own cries when he saw his mother’s prized china shattered on the floor. When he saw her blood dripping red ribbons down his championship trophy._

 

_Not over her body collapsed over the dining room table._

 

_“Shit, get them out, now!” Raymond and his lackeys pushed Chris out of the room, Mark refusing to let go of the bloodied corpse before feeling himself being lifted from the ground, his surroundings one huge blur of thuds and crashes._

 

_He was in his brothers arms, stuck in shock as he watched his home being torn to pieces by gun ammunition and angry men who somehow found their way inside. They were practically in the middle of nowhere, there was no fucking way anyone could’ve found them! No! Not unless—_

 

_No._

 

_Mark was eight when he learned what guilt really meant. How it ripped you apart from the inside out._

 

_He felt himself being lowered to the ground, his brother looking like a totally different person with his own gun between his hands, screaming obscenities, eyes traveling with sharp precision around them. He looked down at Mark, crouching as he opened a small door inside of a closet in his room that he never even noticed before._

 

_“Yien, you go! It’s an escape route, it’ll get you outside — they’re waiting to take you to safety.”_

 

_“M-mom! B-but…”_

 

_“She would want—need you to be safe. Now go!”_

 

_“What about you? Let’s go before they come, Chris! Please!”_

 

_The lock on the door was rattling. Mark felt his heart sink when Chris stood to his feet._

 

_Something old and wise, an inner knowing inside of him could tell what the outcome would be. His brother wasn’t coming with him._

 

_He attached himself to his brothers hips, choked with the guilt and pain, “don’t go, don’t go, don’t leave me—”_

 

_“I’ll never leave, now go, Yien!”_

 

_He was shoved inside the tiny door, hiding his sobs behind his hand as he peeked through it._

_Four men busted through his room door, red symbols on their jackets he remembers seeing on the news he’d sit up watching with bloodshot eyes._

 

_The sound of struggling was clear, the sound of his brother in pain._

 

_Then… he wasn’t._

 

_-_

 

Shattered china flew from Mark’s fingertips, the fake stand in’s for the actual thing, just like the filal son his grandmother hired at the funeral to fill in the gap his older brother left. The _real_ heir to Black Lotus. The son she _actually_ liked and approved of—he gave fuck all what her opinion was now, but god damn, he was _tired._

 

The whole cabinet was next, he pushed with all his might until it crashed down onto the wood floors with a gargantuan thud. He ripped the tablecloth off the table, panting in the middle of the mess. Then, he started to laugh. He heard the music.

 

_“I get along without you very well… of course I do…”_

 

In a moment like this… the skipping record was playing so smoothly again. Ironic. His mother's favorite song gave a smooth soundtrack to the chaos.

 

He ran to his bed room, followed the same “wreck everything in sight” formula until the stupid place was just as unrecognizable as it was that night.

 

God, how stupid was he, huh? Mark thought fixing up the place would erase what the fuck happened here. His dad was right when he wanted to tear this bitch down, but no, Mark just had to hold on to the _scraps_ of his past like it meant a damn thing anymore.

 

When he got to his parents room, he held a shaken, cut hand to his face, evaluating his appearance in the ancient vanity. He grimaced when he saw the tears track down his face. Tears.

 

He remembered how Raymond used to rant and rave, ridicule and belittle him for them. For feeling emotions about the fucked up childhood he had to endure. _Tears can’t solve your problems,_ he said.

 

Mark dropped to his knees, ripping the dressers out one by one, going through all of the contents. His heart was stuttering, his breath—he was panting, throat dry, eyes burning. The dust was choking his lungs, but be couldn’t stop. Not now. Not when he—

 

Wait.

 

That was it.

 

He found it.

 

He actually _found_ it!

 

“God, finally you sick bastard!” Mark’s wrecked voice rang out, tearing through the legal file, the stamp of their family attorney alerting him of just how _close_ he was.

 

He laid out everything before himself, eyes running over the papers, once, twice— _there._

 

His father’s will.

 

The chuckle of a mad man fell out of Mark’s mouth as he looked upon the old document. He must’ve had this mocked up since Chris died.

 

You see, it was true that once Raymond died, everything he possessed would go to his first born child. Now, that was Mark.

 

But to have it on paper is _important._ That is what legitimizes it for every bastard who dares question his rule from here on out. And he knew they would, Raymond _never_ made it fucking clear who ran the show around here as well.

 

Regardless of how his father felt about Mark, even beyond the grave, he would own not _only_ his father’s territory—but every business, every employee, dealer and whore waltzing up the boulevard, every section of narcotics, every brothel, every club, every piece of ammunition— _everything_ the bastard had ever touched...

 

All. His.

 

Mark slowly stood to his feet, gathering everything in the folder as he swiftly left the room. He barreled through the kitchen drawers, biting his lip in excitement as he grabbed a match and lighter.

 

Then, he pressed the telephone on the wall to his ear with a shaky hand, smiling when he heard his lover’s voice on the other side.

 

_“Baby, i’m all done now. Let’s eat, i’m fuckin’ wastin’ away here.”_

 

_“...Yeah, i’m good, i’m great… better than great.”_

 

_“Of course. Love you too, baby. Don’t take too long, huh. Already missin’ you.”_

 

As he collected the box of ashes from the kitchen table, strode through the ruined house, slipped his shoes on, taking slow, savory steps down the stairs with the record still playing.

 

As he lit a match between his fingers, burning a Marlboro and giving it one big drag before discarding it on the damp ground—the ground soiled with _gasoline_ prior to his arrival.

 

He finally found out what his very own coping mechanisms were. They were just like his father’s.

 

_Destroy, destroy, destroy._

 

Jinyoung gasped as he pulled up to the house—what was left of it. Mark was standing right before the tall, wild licks of the flames that started to engulf his childhood home, blowing smoke from a cigarette.

 

The box of ashes was nowhere to be seen.

 

Jinyoung turned to Yoongi, who stared at the sight, just as shocked as he was expecting.

 

Mark finally walked up to the car, placing a kiss on Jinyoung’s lips as he grabbed the new suit in the garment bag he made sure was brought. The brunette ran a hand through his hair, looking between the two men.

 

Only then, did Jinyoung see the folder of files he pulled out of jacket.

 

“You guys ready for some Italian?”

 

-

 

Bambam hated funerals. Absolutely hated them. He’d avoided having his own or attending any since Julian, but of course, he quickly wiped that memory from his head.

 

Instead, he tried to relax, sip on some ancient ass wine from 1940 something as he sat in an equally as ancient Italian restaurant. He had no idea why they were at an Italian place for a Taiwanese funeral but he wasn’t gonna question shit, especially with Raymond Tuan’s most trusted circle sitting at the table with him. The old men sat not-so-patiently, waiting on Mark to get back from wherever he went, staring daggers at Yoongi and Jinyoung who had no trouble doing the same before they left as well. All in all, it was quite tense.

 

Bambam just wondered if he should try the veal.

 

“How’s the wine?”

 

The raven haired man sighed, looking over at the blonde who so _generously_ sat beside him during this dinner when he was trying to keep a distance.

 

“I dunno, old?”

 

 _“Very old_ .” Jisoo piped up from across from the pair, sipping the wine with a slight grimace as they all chuckled. Proving once again, Jisoo was _not_ as prim as she appeared. She ditched the purple hair and went black for the occasion. Bambam chuckled as he remembered the poor staffs eyes lingering on her when they entered the restaurant.

 

“Boxed shit tastes much better than this crap.”

 

The whole gang was here with them. Jaebum and Jisoo, Hoseok and of course Jimin.

 

In fact, as soon as he’d stepped into the rented restaurant the pink haired man had pulled him into the overly-fancy restroom ‘to talk’.

 

-

 

“What the fuck is going on with you?”

 

“With me?”

 

“Yeah, you, _ass._ Where’s V?”

 

“You can say his name, _Chimchim.”_ Bambam threw Taehyung’s nickname back at him, fully expecting it when the man practically flew across the room and closed the distance, shoving him against the wall.

 

He expected everything _about_ this conversation, actually.

 

 _“Where_ is he? Why isn’t he picking up my calls anymore? What did you do?”

 

In the harsh overhead lights of the bathroom Jimin looked quite wound-up, a scowl over his features, drowsy gaze. He looked like he hadn’t been sleeping.

 

“I didn’t ‘do’ shit. You know Tae never liked being around these things.”

 

Bambam lied, not wanting to get into _that_ on a day like this. He wasn’t sure just how much Taehyung told Jimin. Apparently not _much_ if he cut him off so easily.

 

“That never meant around _me.”_ Jimin rubbed his temples, backing up from the younger as he leaned against a stall door. “It’s like he disappeared. I-I can’t even contact him on his phone—“

 

“He moved out. You were probably calling me.”

 

“Moved ou—what the _fuck,_ Bam? You can't tell me a damn thing?!” Jimin glared at him again, this time, crossing his arms. Bambam stared down at the ground. The sound of classic Italian music filtered through the speakers around them.

 

“Look. This is somethin’ between me and him, Jimin. It ain’t you.”

 

“Then why is he—“

 

“I don’t fuckin’ _know!_ I don’t know why he does anything! Can’t you drop it?!”

 

“No I fuckin’ _cant_ ‘cause Mark—“ Jimin cut himself off, cursing at the ceiling. He let out a sharp breath, grabbing the edge of the sink as he stared down at the porcelain. “God, _damn it.”_

 

Bambam raised his brow at the shorter male, leaning up across the wall. “...What is it?”

 

Jimin shook his head, making the younger prompt him again.

 

He licked his lips, turning his head to the side.

 

“The reason I urged you to make sure he never got involved with Black Lotus was not _just_ my own desire. It was part of an order… from Mark.”

 

Bambam groaned so loud it bounced off the walls. What _else_ has Mark stuck his nose in? He was sick of it.

 

“The further I get the more fucked up this shit becomes!”

 

“Quiet down,” Jimin snapped, looking over at him with a softer expression. “I don’t know the full story but… all I know is one night Taehyung snapped on Mark. I got the order then. Told me to threaten him, keep him silent—don’t ask me why. So, yeah, I get kinda nervous when he just _ducks off_ like this, got it?”

 

“... You do it? Threaten him?”

 

“Of _course_ not! They were never… _like_ that before, him and Mark. It was crazy how _angry_ Tae was...“ Jimin quickly gathered himself again, shutting his eyes for a beat before Bambam piped up, the things Mark told him the night before adding up in his mind.

 

“I _know_ why. But what the hell do _you_ mean ‘like this’? Tae hates him, they ain’t _like_ anything.”

 

“Yeah, fuck that. Not my piece to tell. Ask one of them.”

 

_“Come the fuck on.”_

 

“Come on _nothing._ I’m not betraying him.”

 

“You're not betraying anybody! _I’m_ his best friend, not you!”

 

Jimin opened his mouth to respond when the bathroom door opened, an unamused Yoongi on the other side staring daggers at them both.

 

“There you guys are. Get out of here and sit at the table, we’re waiting.” Yoongi raised his brows when neither moved, Bambam turning back to Jimin.

 

“I got this under control. So don’t bother me about him again, alright?” The raven haired man brushed past Yoongi, leaving Jimin alone in the restroom. Yoongi’s eyes were locked on Jimin, who took a deep breath, gathering himself in the mirror. He had to be the confident, easy-going man everyone knew him as. Not the one Yoongi knew. The one struggling to keep himself whole right now.

 

The blonde crossed his arms, leaning against the door. “You gonna tell me what that was?”

 

“Leave it alone, Yoongi.”

 

Jimin brushed past the manager, or at least tried, before a strong hand pulled him back in front of him. The man let out a frustrated groan, glaring at Yoongi in a way he hoped was slightly intimidating to him. He couldn't do this now, this was the _last_ thing he had the strength for after days and days of no rest. He wished the manager would take the damn hint.

 

“You don't scare me, sweetheart. Was that about V?”

 

“Leave. It. The Hell. _Alone._ ” Jimin’s voice wavered, pushing Yoongi’s hand off of his shoulder. The blonde just tsked, ripping his handkerchief from his coat pocket. He held it out to Jimin, who just stared at it.

 

Yoongi ignored him, stuffing the fabric in his pocket anyway. “You know Hobi won’t let up if you go out there lookin’ like your damn dog died. Get it together, then come.”

 

Jimin chuckled humorlessly, his brave face quickly dissolving as the door shut.

 

-

 

Jackson nudged Bambam out of his zone and nodded towards the entrance. Mark was back in a new suit, Jinyoung and Yoongi in tow. He had a bright smile on his face, a pep in his step as he looked over all of the guests sitting at the long table.

 

“Let’s get this show on the roll, shall we? Sorry for keeping you all waiting. Let’s feast.”

 

And feast, they did. Different kinds of pasta, desserts, Bambam’s coveted _veal;_ overflowed from end to end of the dining table, seeming to be a never-ending buffet for everyone as the night went on. At one end of the table were Raymond’s crew, older guys who supposedly “changed Mark’s diapers” and the other end were his son’s crew. The man of the hour sat at the head of the table watching everyone with a smile that was way more sharp than it should have to be dealing with his ‘uncles’.

 

Drinks were flowing even faster than the food, everyone on Mark’s end drinking sparingly, ready to take care of a shitfaced crying boss if need be. But no. Mark didn’t drink a thing. He just… observed.

 

Bambam turned to Jackson, seeing the blonde’s eyes travel from one end of the table to the other, offering small talk to the others before turning to him.

 

“You feel it too, right?”

 

Jackson licked his lips, raising a wine glass to his lips. “Felt it as soon as the pinot grigio came out.”

 

And just like he heard them, Mark suddenly clinked his butter knife against his glass like he’d only seen done in movies.

 

“Now that everyone’s sated, I’ll go ahead and make my speech. I’ve been workin’ on it for a while…”

 

After that, the men beside him started to pipe up with their own remarks, much to Mark’s annoyance.

 

_“Don’t go and get sentimental on us now, son.”_

 

_“Why not? He was always a cryer, since he was a tiny little thing.”_

 

Jinyoung closed his eyes, rubbing his temples. Yoongi shifted in his seat.

 

“Are you quite finished?”

 

Mark raised his brow, a tighter smile on his face as the men chuckled, finally quieting down.

 

“As you men love to bring up, yes, a lot of you have witnessed me when I was a child. Some of you have only seen me in passing, some of you babysat me, some were there in the room when I was born. Or conceived, we all know Raymond didn’t really give a fuck.”

 

Mark’s eyes landed on each of the men as he spoke, his last remark earning chuckles from almost everyone seated. Then, Mark’s eyes landed on one man in particular, a gruff, heavier set man with salt and pepper hair who hadn’t made much of a peep since he got there.

 

“Now. I know you all were close confidants to my dad. And i’m sure he appreciates you very much from the great beyond. That I am very, _very_ sure of. Now, that being said...”

 

The tension was thick in the air, no one moving an inch or touching their food.

 

“It makes me wonder how you would feel about… I don’t know… maybe passing on that undying loyalty to _me._ I’m sure dad would really appreciate it to know his son, his heir, is protected by the people he trusts the most in the world. Am I wrong?”

 

Everyone on Bambam’s side of the table held their breath after that.

 

The silence was immediately broken by that one gruff man, chuckling as he reached for his wine.

 

“I’ve certainly heard it all, haven’t I?”

 

“What’s so fucking funny?” Jinyoung retorted, Mark attempting to silence him with a glare but his lover wouldn’t back down, causing the other men to join in on the ‘joke’ and chuckle as well.

 

Bambam gave a worried look to Jackson and the blonde returned it, squeezing his knee from under the table.

 

“What, Yien? _They don’t fucking respect you,_ _why should I—”_ Jinyoung was shaking in his seat, biting the words out in a mixture of korean and english that made the men bark out laughing.

 

“Baby, I need you to let me handle this.” Mark said, teeth grinding as he looked around the table.

 

 _“Baby,”_ One of them grumbled. Everyone had turned to him, Mark narrowing his eyes at him like he had _one_ more word. The old Bambam would’ve already had an anxiety attack by now with all of this shit going down at once.

 

“What the hell is that, Mark? You know good and well your father never approved of this… _homo-erotic_ fantasy of yours. It’s disgusting.”

 

“Especially with the heir of Park Conglomerate.”

 

“The _old_ heir, Chen. Jinsoo disowned the bitch when he found out, remember?”

 

“Oh yeah, he told us. This one dropped out of UC Berkeley to run around and be a faggot—”

 

Jinyoung stood to his feet immediately, all of the composure he was known to keep flying out the window so fast it would’ve been funny if it didn’t scare him a little.

 

 _“I’ll fucking bury you—”_ Mark’s guards immediately restrained Jinyoung by his arms, “ _I’m_ the faggot?! You bitches would’ve done _anything_ so Raymond could give you a _piece_ of what he had!”

 

Mark’s guards immediately held Jinyoung back, but it didn’t help a thing when, surprisingly, Jimin stood to his feet as well to back him up. That led to _Yoongi_ standing, which made a ripple effect down the table to Jaebum and Hoseok who were ready for anything anyway.

 

Bambam and Jackson quickly stood behind Jisoo, marking safe escape roots in their heads since shit was about to go left.

 

“Everyone sit the fuck down and let him _finish_ before we kill each other!” Jisoo blurted out, everyone widening their eyes like she was insane until the latter clinked his knife against his glass once more.

 

“Thank you, Jisoo.” Mark said tightly, crossing his hands over the table. “She’s right. Everyone sit down. Stop acting like children so we can discuss this. Guards, take Jinyoungie, make sure you pat him down before you leave.”

 

The guards did what was asked and so did everyone else, surprisingly. Mark asked the waitresses to bring the men new drinks to keep them sated, ever a great host.

 

After a beat of silence, one of the men spoke again.

 

“Mark, seriously. You’re parading around national _television_ like a fucking showgirl and you expect us to work for you?”

 

The brunette’s cool started to wane. “It doesn’t matter if i’m showing the world my _balls_ on Saturday Night Live, if you have an obligation to serve me, that’s a _fucking_ obligation!”

 

Mark snapped his fingers, one of his guards bringing him a mysterious brown leather binder filled with yellow papers almost busting out of the seams.

 

 _“How the hell did you get that?!”_ One of them shouted.

 

“Shut the fuck up.” Mark bit out, pulling out one single paper. He held it up high.

 

“This. This is Raymond Tuan’s _will._ If you look through it,” He passed the document down, watching them all crowd around it in disbelief. Mark’s smile returned to his face at the sight.

 

“You’ll see that everything he ever owned, was planning to own, the hair on your asses—it all belongs to me now. Whether you like it or not, I couldn’t give less of a shit. Los Angeles belongs to me. _California_ belongs to me.”

 

Bambam furrowed his brows, the details of Mark’s plan was fuzzy to him. If it didn’t matter what they thought, why invite them here? Why give them a platform to speak against him?

 

“Silent now, huh? What’s it gonna be, guys? I wanna hear it.” Mark smirked, leaning forward in his seat. “Since you care _so_ much about me. changed my diapers, ran my bath, _what.”_

 

Mark barked out a laugh at their silence, the mirth, the hatred in their glares. This is why he loved chaos. It brought out the _authenticity_ in people. Now he knew how these men felt about him all along.

 

Then his eyes locked on the same man who chuckled before, saying he’d ‘seen it all’. What nobody knew was that he _actually_ had. That man was Raymond’s _best friend._ He was there since Mark spoke his first words, he helped train him to fight, use firearms, he even trained Chris. And damn, Mark couldn’t help the slight sting seeing the man look _down_ upon him.

 

Well, what the hell could he do about it now?

 

“Hank.”

 

The man shook his head, getting up from the table. Mark’s guards immediately blocked him.

 

“Hank, don’t be fucking stupid! Get back here _now._ Say what you need to say to me.” Mark but the inside of his cheek, watching the hatred grow in the man’s eyes.

 

“You wanted to be different, Tuan Yien. _Always_ wanted to be different.” Hank said, shaking his head from the side to side as he lowered himself in his seat. “You can’t run from who you are. Looking in your eyes feels like he’s still here.”

 

Mark rubbed a hand over his face. He used to angry when people said shit like this, now he’s just exhausted. “So what, Hank? What the fuck is your point?”

 

“My point is that you got what you wanted. He’s finally out of your way.” Hank balled his fists up at the table. “And _you_ killed him. Isn’t that what we’re all here for? To hear you gloat?”

 

Everyone in the restaurant had stilled.

 

Jackson let out a choked noise before Bambam squeezed his arm to keep him quiet. Mark threw his head back and laughed, standing up to his feet. Yoongi inched back on his chair, sharp eyes watching everyone's move as he told the guards to surround the table.

 

“Lena counted on you, Hank! You! To get us back home safely that night!” Mark’s voice became rougher as he continued, “Chris counted on you. Shit, _I_ _counted on you!_ You didn’t come through and they’re _both_ gone.”

 

Bambam was wildly confused, and so was everyone else on Mark’s side when they heard the unfamiliar names. Hank wasn’t. He stood to his feet, red in the face and pointing his knife at Mark.

 

“How _dare_ you blame me for that you ungrateful little bastard! It should’ve been _you!”_

 

 _“God,_ shut up already!” Mark yelled, he grabbed one of the guards guns from him—everyone stood up but it was too _fast._ There was bullet between the man’s eyes before anyone could react.

 

His body fell backwards, tumbling down besides the table while everyone watched, stuck frozen in their seats.

 

Raymond’s men looked angrier and angrier, not at all shaken by what Mark had done—their late boss had done it a billion times before. It was the conversation beforehand that made them livid.

 

“All of you—you seem to be a _little_ fucking confused. I know, God, _I know_ that you’ll never ever work for me. I mean, why? What the fuck have you guys _ever_ done for me?! You were obligated to protect my family— _failed!_ You were obligated to stay loyal to Black Lotus and you god damn _failed!_ You let your own boss die for goodness sakes!”

 

Mark shouted, another hysterical laugh bubbling from his chest.

 

Everyone in Mark’s crew looked to each other across the table, eyes widening as they put it together.

 

This was revenge. And they had a front row seat for a reason.

 

“I burned down the family home. You know, the first one, the one in the clearing. Everything in there is being destroyed as we speak. Including _his_ shitty ashes. It feels… symbolic to me, you guys. Like a cleansing of the past so I can move the hell on.”

 

Mark watched as one of the men, coincidentally the one who insulted Jinyoung, started to choke on his drink, face turning redder and redder. Bambam watched on in thinly concealed horror as the man started foaming at the mouth, thrashing in his chair.

 

“This is a cleansing, boys. I don’t need anything from you. I don’t need you at all.”

 

The thud of the man’s corpse hitting his plate rang clear in the silence.

 

“You _knew_ Raymond was going to kill me either way. He hated me ‘cause he knew what I was made of. He knew that I wasn’t below doing a thing to get my way, _just_ like him.” Mark watched the men, all one by one, starting to choke on their drinks.

 

“And you guys stood by and watched him treat me like dirt all my life. So, fuck you.”

 

It didn’t take too long to figure it out. They were being poisoned. Each glass, steadily, the _entire_ time.

 

“I don’t tolerate _lies_ from degenerate fucks like you. No, I didn’t kill my father. I would’ve done it under my own hands so I could get the satisfaction myself. A messy assassination attempt in a foreign country isn’t exactly my style; not like _you_ traitors.”

 

They started thrashing in their seats, choking, one by one. He never knew hatred could still shine through one’s eyes while they’re dying, but you learn something new everyday. Yoongi stood, grabbing Jimin as the blood started to splatter over to their side. The pink haired man wiped at some that landed on his own face, soiling the handkerchief the manager had given him.

 

“You old fucks couldn't even wait a week, huh. I knew he was coming back to Los Angeles. I had my _own_ plans. This was between him and I!” Mark tsked, picking his gun back up once more. “So god damn _stupid._ All of you. To think you could sit here and lie to _me.”_

 

The brunette shot each man in the head with precision. It was a sight to see, one side of the table covered with blood, men faced down in their plates, sprawled on the floor—then the other side; sitting there just as clean and sophisticated as they entered.

 

After the commotion had died down, Mark ordered the guards to get rid of the bodies.

 

Bambam noticed his hand was gripping on tight to Jackson’s, quickly tearing it away from his grasp and running it through his hair. Jaebum looked exasperated while Jisoo was turned away, hiding her face in his shoulder. Hoseok looked over at Jimin, communicating wordlessly the way couples do.

 

Yoongi sagged his shoulders, giving Mark the _‘you went overboard and i’m gonna have to clean after you’_ look.

 

And the brunette himself just sighed, resuming his glass of pino grigio as he handed his gun back to the guard. He finally looked over at everyone, rolling his neck and stretching his limbs.

 

“Damn. That took _way_ too fucking long.”

 

Mark picked the bloodied document off the table, showing it to everyone with a disgusted grimace.

 

“Well. Good thing I made copies. Let’s go have some _real_ fun, huh?”

 

Everyone around Bambam murmured agreements as they stood to their feet. He himself felt that out-of-body feeling, that one you get after you walk out of a movie theater— where you were invested in someone else’s life for two hours and you’re trying to adjust to your own again.

 

He stood to his feet, following Jackson as he did the same, looking owlishly around at everyone, as if he was expecting someone to to formally address the fact Mark just killed his dad’s murderers over their pasta.

 

Bambam suddenly nudged the blonde, stalling him while the rest of the crew filed back out into the limo’s outside. For a second, he swore he saw double, squinting when the bright light of the lobby assaulted his vision. Maybe he drank more of that ancient wine than he thought.

 

“H-Hold on a second…”

 

“Bambam?”

 

He didn’t know what it was, but his stomach started to toss and turn, rejecting all the five star shit he’d just eaten.

 

“I’m good, i’m good, j-just g—”

 

“Bam, _really?!”_ Jackson groaned as Bambam hurled right beside his shoes, but the deja vu of the situation brought a small smile on his face despite what he’d just seen.

 

“Hey, can someone help me get Bam in the car?” Jackson called out, brows furrowing when no one had moved to help him, continuing to file inside of the cars. “Guys, seriously, he’s barfing and…”

 

Bambam went limp in Jackson’s arms.

 

 _“Bambam!_ What the—”

 

 _Why wouldn’t anyone help him? Can’t they see what the fuck is happening?!_ Jackson brought them both down the ground, hovering over the younger with panicked eyes. He knew for a fact he wasn’t shitfaced, he had like one glass and a bulletproof tolerance. He was going over all of the possibilities in his mind when he remembered—

 

Oh, _shit._

 

Jackson quickly stood to his feet, bolting outside when he saw the limo’s had all taken off without them. He felt his heart sink in his chest, holding his hands behind his head. He didn't factor this in, and now he had to think on the fly. He wracked his mind for anything, anything that could explain why they would do this _now._

 

Why they would leave Jackson and Bambam _alone_ after that horrifying... _spectacle_ dinner was. What did it mean?

 

“What the _fuck_ is going on!?” The blonde shouted, turning back to the doors of the restaurant. Jackson stilled. The betrayal, the revenge, the show made of it all.

 

Think, Jackson, _think._

 

It was obvious, it had to be. Mark was showing them this on purpose. He was doing _more_ than telling them not to cross him. He was _showing_ them.

 

And then it came to him. That word, the one he used on him in the club came back full force.

 

_Initiation. This was the start of initiation._

 

"Fuck! Bambam!"

 

Jackson bolted back through the doors, but before he could reach them he was knocked on the backside of his head, collapsing right on the sidewalk.

 

And in a limo a few blocks away, Mark sat with Jaebum and Hoseok, watching closely as a black van sped away from the restaurant in record speed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> act 6 is here! After this, shit is gettin Real as fuck, and everyone will officially be in the picture. Enjoy guys <3


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